[BRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CAL  [FORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


THE    ATHEN/EUM    PRESS    SERIES 

G.  L.  KITTREDGE  AND  C.  T.  WINCHESTER 

GENERAL    EDITORS 


Sbe 
Htbenazum  press  Series. 

This  series  is  intended  to  furnish  a 
library  of  the  best  English  literature 
from  Chaucer  to  the  present  time  in  a 
form  adapted  to  the  needs  of  both  the 
student  and  the  general  reader.  The 
works  selected  are  carefully  edited,  with 
biographical  and  critical  introductions, 
full  explanatory  notes,  and  other  neces- 
sary apparatus. 


Htbetueum  press  Scries 


OLD 


ENGLISH  BALLADS 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED 


FRANCIS   B.   GUMMERE 

PROFESSOR   OF   ENGLISH    IN    HAVERFORD   COLLEGE 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 

GINN  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 
1894 


COPYRIGHT,  1894 
BY  FRANCIS   B.   GUMMERE 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


College 
Library 

PR 
Utl 


TO 

PROFESSOR   FRANCIS  JAMES-CHILD. 

MY  DEAR  MR.  CHILD: 

When  I  ask  you  to  accept  the  dedication  of  this  book,  I  am  thinking, 
not  of  the  editor  of  English  and  Scottish  ballads,  the  unrivalled  master  in 
the  investigation  of  popular  poetry,  but  of  the  teacher  who  has  taught  a  host 
of  pupils  to  welcome  honest  work  in  whatever  degree  of  excellence,  and  of 
the  friend  who  never  failed  to  help  and  encourage  the  humblest  of  his 
fellows. 

Faithfully  yours, 

F.  B.  GUMMERE. 


PREFACE. 


THE  editor's  obligations  for  help  in  the  making  of  this 
book  are  limited  to  three  sources ;  but  in  each  case  it  is 
hard  to  render  adequate  acknowledgment.  The  authori- 
ties of  the  Harvard  College  Library  have  shown  the 
utmost  courtesy ;  Professor  Kittredge  has  helped  the 
editor  in  revising  the  proof-sheets  of  the  Introduction, 
and  for  the  Glossary  and  Notes  has  not  only  given  the 
same  generous  service,  —  a  service  valued  best  by  those 
who  know  his  command  of  Middle  English,  —  but  has 
made  a  number  of  important  suggestions ;  while  Pro- 
fessor Child,  in  addition  to  the  sympathy  and  encourage- 
ment of  which  he  is  so  prodigal,  has  kindly  looked  through 
the  proof-sheets  of  the  Glossary. 

Introduction,  Notes  and  Glossary  must  speak  for  them- 
selves ;  but  a  word  is  needed  in  regard  to  the  Text.  The 
ballads  are  intended  to  be  representative  both  in  range 
and  in  quality.  In  most  instances  the  editor  has  selected 
what  seemed  to  be  the  best  text,  although  in  one  or  two 
cases  the  best  had  to  yield  to  the  suitable.  A  few 
omissions  were  necessary ;  here  and  there,  but  not  very 
often,  combinations  were  made  of  different  texts ;  and 
some  unimportant  substitution  of  words  was  allowed  as 
between  version  and  version.  The  latter  freedom,  how- 
ever, was  sparingly  employed,  and  was  confined  mainly 


via  PREFACE. 

to  the  Gest.  Absolutely  no  independent  additions  were 
made  of  any  sort ;  that  is  to  say,  no  passage,  no  phrase 
even,  will  be  found  in  any  of  the  selections,  which  is  not 
taken  word  for  word  from  a  recognized  text  of  the  ballad 
in  question. 

It  is  perhaps  proper  to  state  that  the  greater  part  of 
the  Introduction  was  delivered  in  the  shape  of  five 
lectures  at  the  Johns  Hopkins  University,  in  the  spring 

of  1893. 

F.  B.  G. 

HAVER  FORD  COLLEGE,  i  March,  1894. 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION xi 

A  GEST  OF  ROBYN  MODE i 

ROBIN  HOOD  AND  GUY  OF  GISBORNE 68 

ROBIN  HOOD  AND  THE  MONK 77 

ROBIN  HOOD'S  DEATH 90 

THE  BATTLE  OF  OTTERBURN 94 

THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  CHEVIOT 105 

KINMONT  WILLIE 116 

JOHN  IE  COCK 123 

JOHNIE  ARMSTRONG 127 

SIR  ANDREW  BARTON 130 

BROWN  ROBYN'S  CONFESSION 142 

SIR  PATRICK  SPENS 144 

CAPTAIN  CAR,  OR  EDOM  o  GORDON 146 

THE  BARON  OF  BRACKLEY 151 

THE  BONNY  EARL  OF  MURRAY 155 

YOUNG  WATERS 156 

MARY  HAMILTON  159 

BONNIE  GEORGE  CAMPBELL 162 

BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY 163 

SIR  HUGH 164 

THE  THREE  RAVENS 167 

LORD  RANDALL 168 

EDWARD 169 

THE  TWA  SISTERS 171 

THE  TWA  BROTHERS 174 

BEWICK  AND  GRAHAME 176 

THE  CRUEL  BROTHER 185 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

BABYLON,  OR  THE  BONNIE  BANKS  o  FORDIE  188 

CHILD  MAURICE 190 

THE  WIFE  OF  USHER'S  WELL 195 

CLERK  COLVEN 197 

FAIR  MARGARET  AND  SWEET  WILLIAM 200 

SWEET  WILLIAM'S  GHOST  203 

EARL  BRAND  206 

YOUNG  HUNTING 209 

FAIR  JANET  213 

LADY  MAISRY 218 

THE  LASS  OF  ROCH  ROYAL 223 

WILLIE  AND  LADY  MAISRY 228 

LORD  THOMAS  AND  FAIR  ANNET 231 

FAIR  MARY  OF  LIVINGSTON 236 

CHILD  WATERS 241 

FAIR  ANNIE 247 

WILLIE'S  LADY 252 

YOUNG  BEICHAN 256 

HIND  HORN 260 

KATHARINE  JAFFRAY 263 

THE  GAY  GOSHAWK 265 

KING  ESTMERE 270 

KEMP  OWYNE 280 

TAM  LIN 283 

THOMAS  RYMER 290 

THE  WEE  WEE  MAN  293 

ST.  STEPHEN  AND  HEROD  295 


NOTES 313 

GLOSSARY 363 

INDEX 377 


INTRODUCTION. 


I. 

IT  is  a  commonplace  of  criticism  that  recent  literature 
has  in  every  way  accented  the  individual  ;  and  we  are 
wont  to  charge  this  difference  to  the  progress  made  by 
civilization  from  the  medieval  to  the  modern  point  of 
view.  Ideas  and  expressions  had  lain  at  large  in  almost 
common  property  ;  in  verse,  translation  was  as  noble 
an  art  as  composition  ;  but  when,  with  the  revival  of 
learning,  literature  began  to  take  her  wares  to  market, 
she  sought  the  critic  to  serve  as  watch-dog,  and  straight- 
way wrote  down  the  new  crime  of  plagiarism.  Paper 
and  printer's  ink  set  up  a  sort  of  privacy  for  both  the 
author  and  what  was  once  his  public  ;  instead  of  a 
throng  of  hearers,  stood  our  gentle  reader,  encouraging 
the  artist,  and  luring  him  more  and  more  to  confidences. 
It  is  true  that  we  can  find  something  of  this  personal 
character  in  the  very  heart  of  the  middle  ages.  Added  to 
such  traditions  of  poetic  dignity  as  the  church  preserved 
from  an  older  literature,  came  her  own  teachings  in 
regard  to  the  value  of  the  individual  ;  and  we  certainly 
feel  a  sweep  of  sentiment,  an  audacity,  one  may  say,  of 
individualism,  in  that  typical  line  of  the  "  Dies  Irae  "  :  — 

Quaerens  me  sedisti  lasms  ! 

Yet  this  earlier  personal  element  found  no  echo  in  popular 
poetry  of  the  day.  Mainly  in  a  dead  tongue,  of  an 
artificial  interest,  it  appealed  to  a  small  class  of  learned 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

men,  and  was  product  as  well  as  property  of  the  schools. 
The  poetry  of  the  masses  was  objective  and  impersonal ; 
and  even  among  the  learned,  despite  those  conditions 
which  made  for  a  personal  attitude,  we  find  poets  steadily 
tending  to  the  objective,  and  writing  generically,  merely 
as  representatives  of  a  class.  "  It  seems,"  says  Nyrop, 
"  as  if  the  medieval  author  held  it  improper  to  join  his 
name  to  a  literary  composition  "  ;  and  even  Dante,  most 
personal  of  all  poets,  names  himself  but  once  in  the 
whole  Commedia.1  Our  modern  period  began  when  the 
public  at  large  came  to  be  the  public  of  the  man  of 
letters,  when  the  poet,  full  of  his  own  dignity  as  an 
artist,  went  abroad  and  made  friends  of  all  men.  With 
this  change,  death  fell  upon  that  other  sort  of  poetry, 
so  little  represented  in  manuscripts,2  but  so  vital  and  so 
abundant  throughout  the  middle  ages,  the  poetry  which 
was  made  for  the  ear  and  not  for  the  eye,  a  poetry  full  of 
life,  "  in  which  everybody  believed  and  which  everybody 
could  have  made" s  With  the  spread  of  letters  among 
the  people,  this  poetry  of  the  unlettered  passed  away  ; 
the  revival  of  learning,  the  secularization  of  art,  brought 
in  their  train  the  lapse  of  impersonal  and  objective 
poetry  and  the  rise  of  the  confidential  and  sentimental 
poet. 

The  question  of  innovations  must  not  delay  us.    French- 
men say  that  Villon  brings  into  their  poetry  the  earliest 

1  Nyrop,  Den  oldfranske  Heltedigtning,  p.  288.     Dante,  Pitrgat., 
xxx,  55. 

2  For  example,  compare  the  praise  chanted  by  monkish  chroniclers 
over  King  Edgar  (Earle,  Two  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicles,  p.   119)  with 
the  dark  stories  of  his  cruelty  and  lust  reluctantly  told  by  William 
of  Malmesbury  (Gest.  Reg.  Ang.,  Bk.  II,  ed.  Stubbs,  I,  165)  as  slurs 
"which  have  been  cast  upon  him  by  ballads," —  infamias  .  .  .  resper- 
serunt  cantilenae.    As  Miillenhoff  says,  the  middle  ages  spoke  another 
speech  than  that  of  their  chronicles. 

8  Gaston  Paris,  La  Potsie  du  Moyen  Age,  pp.  20,  82  f. 


INTRODUCTION.  xiii 

sound  of  this  personal  and  subjective  note, — Villon,  with 
his  excellent  differences  from  the  pastoral  poets  of  the 
day,  forty  feeding  like  one,  his  piercingly  individual 
tone,  his  reckless  egotism.  When,  however,  we  ask  what 
Englishman  first  shows  the  imperious  mood  of  the  artist, 
we  are  asking  a  parlous  question  indeed.  We  find  the 
thing,  with  all  its  pomp,  in  Shakspere's  sonnets,  and 
even  in  his  plays.1  We  find  it,  with  a  dramatic  mask 
thinner  than  usual,  in  some  verses  by  Tom  Nash,2  where 
in  startling  felicity  of  phrase,  — 

Brightness  falls  froni  the  air  ; 
Queens  have  died  young  and  fair  ; 
Dust  hath  closed  Helen's  eye  ; 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die, 

Lord  have  mercy  on  us  !  — 

as  well  as  in  appeals  to  the  famous  dead,  we  note  a 
parallel  to  Villon's  best-known  ballade.3  But  we  find  it 
a  century  earlier  in  the  verses  of  William  Dunbar,  who 
was  the  first  of  our  poets  to  see  his  own  work  in  that 
mightiest  of  aids  to  subjectivity,  printer's  ink ;  and 
perhaps  we  shall  not  err  if  we  assume  that  Dunbar  forms 
a  parallel  to  Villon  in  this  as  in  many  other  respects,4 

1  As  poetry  of  the  people  proper  is  going  out  of  Europe,  the 
drama  comes  in  ;  at  first,  stiff  and  impersonal  to  a  fault,  it  soon 
follows  the  new  demand  for  a  sentimental  note,  until  in  Marlowe 
and  Shakspere  we  get  that  intensely  personal  quality  which  makes 
some  of  their  scenes  read  like  a  succession  of  lyrics,  and  which  the 
late  J.  A.  Symonds  has  analyzed  with  such  success.  It  is  this  "  lyric 
cry  "  which  tells  of  a  new  relation  between  the  poet  and  his  public. 

-  In  his  Summer's  Last  Will  and  Testament ;  a  "  doleful  ditty  to 
the  lute."  The  plague  was  then  raging  in  London,  and  the  verses 
have  a  very  personal  quality. 

8  For  the  measureless  distance  which  separates  verse  of  this  sort 
from  the  Ubi  sunt  strain  of  medieval  poetry,  see  Sainte-Beuve, 
Causeries  de  Lundi,  XIV,  297  f. 

4  The  notes  (by  Dr.  Gregor)  in  Small's  edition  of  Dunbar,  III, 
90  ff .  point  out  a  likeness  in  whole  and  in  parts  between  Dunbar's 


xiv  INTRODUCTION. 

and  thus  takes  rank  as  the  first  of  our  sentimental  or 
distinctly  lyric  poets. 

In  what  poetry,  to  come  closer  to  our  task,  must  we 
look  for  qualities  radically  different  from  this  artistry  and 
sentiment  ?  A  mere  appeal  to  black-letter  will  not  serve 
us.  What  we  are  wont  to  call  medieval  poetry  is  not  the 
real  poetry  of  the  middle  ages.  We  must  turn  from  the 
printed  book  ;  we  must  forget  even  that  amiable  sinner, 
the  clerk,  who  took  his  fair  hour  with  a  breviary  in  one 
hand  and  Ovid's  Ars  Amatoria  in  the  other  ;  we  must 
seek  poetry  which  springs  from  the  people,  which  belongs 
to  no  one  poet,  which  appeals  to  the  ear  rather  than  to 
the  eye,  and  which  suggests  no  confidences.1  Poetry 
of  this  sort  lay  at  the  foundation  of  our  early  epics ;  in 
modified  guise  it  sought  a  home  in  the  unlettered  and 
homogeneous  communities  of  the  later  middle  ages  ;  and 
with  a  form  yet  more  changed,  it  lingered  down  to  our 
own  century  in  a  number  of  survivals.  This  seems  clear 
enough,  and  any  one,  we  say,  knows  the  rural  from  the 
lettered  muse  ;  as  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  critics  have 
drawn  in  vaguest  possible  outline  the  boundary  between 
real  poetry  of  the  people  and  certain  other  forms  of 
verse. 

With  such  confusions  we  must  presently  reckon  in 
detail ;  but  it  is  well  to  point  out  a  more  general  blun- 
der. Poetry  of  the  schools  and  poetry  of  the  people 
are  treated  as  rival  claimants  for  the  throne  of  excel- 
lence. At  certain  revolutions  of  taste,  men  forswear 

Lament  for  the  Makaris  and  Villon's  two  ballades.  Mere  personality, 
however,  is  not  the  sole  test  of  this  new  spirit,  or  we  should  be 
obliged  to  reckon  with  Uunbar's  contemporary,  Skelton.  The 
Garland  of  Laurell  protests  quite  superfluously  about  Skelton  poeta. 
1  The  Carmina  Burana  have  a  generical  character,  but  they 
belong  distinctly  to  the  schools.  There  is  a  very  popular  tone  in 
that  Latin  poem  wherein  Bishop  Golias  "confessed  his  love  for  good 
liquor,"  but  it  is  not  poetry  of  the  people. 


INTRODUCTION.  xv 

thin  potations  in  literature,  will  not  hear  of  Keats  or 
Shelley,  and  will  have  nought  but  verse  dealing  with 
what  Mr.  R.  L.  Stevenson  has  lately  praised  as  the 
better  part  of  existence,  — "  the  eternal  life  of  man 
spent  under  sun  and  rain,  and  in  rude  physical  effort." 
We  take  a  stanza  of  "Johnnie  Armstrong": 

Said  John,  '  Fight  on,  my  merry  men  all, 

I  dm  a  little  hurt,  but  I  am  not  slain  ; 
I  -will  lay  me  down  for  to  bleed  awhile, 

And  then  I1  II  rise  and  fight  with  you  again,' 

and  we  say  that  here  is  unaccommodated  man,  "  the  thing 
itself."  We  say  this  rightly,  and  ought  to  be  content 
with  such  praises  ;  but  we  are  not  content.  We  go  on  to 
set  this  rude  and  bracing  verse  over  against  the  "  Ode  to 
a  Nightingale,"  or  the  "  Stanzas  Written  in  Dejection  near 
Naples,"  and  flout  the  latter  heartily,  as  if,  because  fresh 
air  is  a  good  thing,  a  man  ought  to  open  the  window  and 
let  a  December  gale  blow  upon  his  back  while  he  reads 
before  a  study-fire.  Vilmar,  that  excellent  German, 
thought  thus  to  crush  Heine  with  a  ballad ;  but  neither 
he  nor  the  more  temperate  critic  has  any  reason  to  set 
up  one  standard  for  two  kinds  of  poetry.  An  estimate 
of  poetry  of  the  people  based  upon  the  standard  of  the 
schools  must  lead  us  into  error,  as  it  led  Dr.  Johnson 
into  absurdity  ;  and  when  enthusiasts  for  the  ballad  like 
Burger,  or  even  Jacob  Grimm,  attempt  to  judge  poetry  of 
the  schools  by  tests  which  belong  entirely  to  poetry  of 
the  people,  we  have  confusion  even  more  deplorable. 
Outworn  poetry  of  the  schools  is  fain  to  put  on  a  rural 
manner,  to  catch  the  trick  of  simplicity,  as  when  Pru- 
dentius,  in  his  "ballad"  about  a  certain  martyr,  must 
bid  his  hero  "  give  ear  to  a  rustic  poet "  ; J  or  when,  in  a 

1  "  Audi  poetam  rusticum." — See  Ebert's  remarks  about  this 
poem  on  the  martyr  Laurentius,  which  he  calls  the  first  example  of 
a  modern  ballad.  Geschichte  der  christl.-latein.  Literatur,  I,  252. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION. 

famous  scene  of  "  Le  Misanthrope,"  the  vain,  amatorious 
sonnet  is  so  deftly  ridiculed,  and  the  hero  recites  that 
pearl  of  a  song  about  the  lover  who  would  fling  back 
King  Henry's  gift  of  Paris  itself,  if  it  meant  the  loss  of 
his  sweetheart.  All  this  is  away  from  the  purpose.  One 
should  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  artificiality  and  bad- 
ness of  the  schools,  or  with  the  simplicity  and  goodness 
of  the  rural  poets.  We  can  delight  in  "  Childe  Waters  " 
without  bating  a  jot  of  our  admiration  for  "  Child 
Roland  "  ;  nor  do  we  lay  upon  lovers  of  a  good  ballad 
the  obligation  to  hate  Pope  and  to  writhe  in  anguish 
over  the  "  artificial  "  periods  of  our  literature. 

Akin  to  this  confusion  of  standards,  this  lack  of  per- 
spective and  tolerance,  is  the  error  about  which  we  have 
already  spoken,  and  into  which  so  many  readers  and 
even  critics  are  led  by  the  inadequate  nature  of  their 
definitions.  They  make  perpetual  confusion  between 
poetry  of  the  people  and  poetry  for  the  people,  between 
a  traditional  piece  of  verse  and  a  song  written  to  please 
the  casual  crowd  of  an  alley  or  a  concert-hall,1  —  that 
"popular"  poetry  here,  as  well  as  in  Russia,  "laboriously 
produced  in  the  towns,  and  unblushingly  fathered  upon 
soldiers  and  gypsies." 2  Poetry  of  the  people  is  the 
poetry  which  once  came  from  the  people  as  a  whole, 
from  the  compact  body  as  yet  undivided  by  lettered  or 
unlettered  taste,  and  represents  the  sentiment  neither  of 
individuals  nor  of  a  class.  It  inclines  to  the  narrative, 
the  concrete  and  exterior,  and  it  has  no  mark  of  the 
artist  and  his  sentiment.  This  poetry  is  supremely  diffi- 
cult to  study  ;  for  the  conditions  of  any  analysis  of  it  are 
apt  to  be  the  conditions  of  its  own  decay  and  disappear- 
ance. In  general  it  assumes  three  forms,  —  the  epos, 
the  song,  and  the  ballad.  The  question  of  epic  poetry 

1  John  Ashton,  Modern  Street  Ballads,  London,  1888. 

2  Ralston,  Songs  of  the  Rttssian  People,  p.  40. 


INTRODUCTION.  xvii 

we  may  not  now  discuss,  except  to  point  out  how  unsta- 
ble are  the  results  of  critical  investigations  in  its  domain  ; 
witness  the  Homeric  problem.  The  song,1  spontaneous 
outburst  of  emotion,  is  so  often  and  so  clearly  a  matter 
of  the  individual,  that  it  seldom  agrees  with  the  condi- 
tions of  genuine  poetry  of  the  people.  There  remains 
the  ballad,  poetry  of  the  people  in  survival ;  and  this, 
in  spite  of  its  manifold  changes  and  imperfections,  is  our 
best  representative  of  the  whole  class. 

II. 

Error  in  the  comprehension  of  the  ballad  goes,  then, 
upon  two  lines,  —  there  is  confusion,  more  or  less 
deplored,  in  the  name  of  it ;  and  there  is  confusion,  for 
the  most  part  a  matter  of  carelessness,  in  the  treatment 
of  the  thing  itself.  Metes  and  bounds  are  seldom  clear  ; 2 
we  are  confronted  not  only  by  the  lack  of  any  unequiv- 
ocal name  for  this  kind  of  poem,  but  by  a  haunting 
uncertainty  in  regard  to  the  meaning  of  the  terms  used 
now  and  then  for  similar  or  kindred  verse.  Thus,  when 
Mr.  Saintsbury  tells  us8  that  "the  lack,  notorious  to  this 
day,  of  one  single  original  English  folk-song  of  really 
great  beauty,  is  a  rough  and  general  fact,"  we  are  at  a 
loss  to  know  how  we  should  understand  him.  Does  he 
mean  by  folk-song  what  a  German  means  by  volkslied, 
or  does  he  exclude  the  narrative  ballad?  Even  if  he 
restricts  us  to  the  song  pure  and  simple,  like  that  pearl 
in  the  "  Misanthrope,"  what  does  he  understand  by  a 

1  A  good  example  is  the  well-known  Scottish  song:  — 

O  u'aly,  u'aly  up  yon  bank.' 

2  See,  for   example,  the  poems  which  pass  as   ballads   in    S.  C. 
Hall's   collection.  —  In    1860   a   collection    of   well-known    modern 
poems,  mainly  vers  de  societe,  was  published  in  New  York  under  the 
title  "  Folk  Song  "  ! 

3  Elizabethan  Literature,  p.  446. 


xviii  INTRODUCTION. 

song  of  the  folk  ?  Chappell,  in  his  invaluable  work,1 
shows  us  that  the  England  of  Elizabeth  surpassed  both 
Italy  and  France  in  the  matter  of  music.  High  and  low, 
every  one  loved  to  sing  ;  every  one  was  expected  to  take 
a  part,  even  in  difficult  songs  ;  and  the  very  barber  kept 
in  his  shop  lute,  cittern,  or  virginal  for  the  amusement  of 
waiting  customers.  Music  was  everywhere,  and  every- 
where were  songs.  How  much  of  all  that  "  masterless  " 
lyric  would  come  under  the  head  of  Mr.  Saintsbury's 
folk-song,  is  a  question  outside  of  our  present  task ; 
enough  if  we  insist  upon  the  indefinite,  not  to  say 
preposterous,  nature  of  his  assertion,  and  the  need  of 
unequivocal  terms.2 

With  regard  to  the  name  of  ballad,  we  are  in  no  better 
case.3  Confusion  is  rife  in  the  use  of  the  term,  and  error 
has  even  crept  into  some  critical  accounts  of  this  con- 
fusion. The  ballade  of  the  schools,  to  be  sure,  as  it  was 
copied  by  Chaucer  or  Gower  from  the  French,  need  not 
be  reckoned  among  the  immediate  causes  of  trouble ; 4 
and  with  it  go  other_p_oems  of  different  but  complicated 
stanzaic  structure.5  [The  main  source  of  error  lies  in  the 
application  of  the  word,  however  spelled,  to  almost  any 
short  narrative  poem,  to  any  short  didactic  poem,  to 

1  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time,  I,  98.  —  For  an  older  period 
of  song  in  England,  see  ten  Brink,  Gesch.  d.  engl.  Lit.,  I,  381  ff. — 
For  the  use  of  "  old  songs  "  in  a  play,  see  Chappell,  I,  72. 

2  In  what  way  would  Mr.  Saintsbury  dispose  of  the  popular  Scot- 
tish lyric  mentioned  above  ? 

3  Wolf,  Lais,  etc.,  pp.  45,  233. 

4  "  This  balade,"  says  Chaucer  of  his  "  Hyd,  Absalon,  thy  gilte 
tresses  clere,"  Legend  Goode  Women,  270. 

5  Such   is   the    "balet"    printed   by    Ritson,  Ancient  Songs  and 
Ballads,  ed.  Hazlitt,  p.  149  (in  the  original  ed.,  p.  86);  compare  the 
"  balades "  named  in   Lydgate's  Bycorne  and  Chichevache.     Guest 
proposed  (Engl.  Rhythms,  II,  354)  the  spelling  ballet  for  the  related 
class  of  poems  ;  but  the  French  ballade  is  surely  better. 


INTRODUCTION.  xix 

almost  any  sort  of  lyric,  and  to  almost  every  conceivable 
form  of  reviling  or  grumbling  in  verse._]  No  better  proof 
of  this  confusion  can  be  found  than  in  the  Register  of  the 
Company  of  Stationers  in  London.1  Now  and  then  we 
meet  the  traditional  ballad  of  the  people :  "  a  ballett  of 
Wakefylde  and  agrene "  (1557-58),  is  followed  by  "a 
ballett  of  admonyssion  to  leave  swerynge  "  and  "  a  ballett 
called  have pytie  on  the poore  "  (1559).  John  Aide  pays  his 
fee  for  "  pryntinge  of  a  balett  of  Robyn  Hod  "  (1562-63)  ; 
but  compare  this  batch  of  seven  "ballettes ": 2  Godly 
Immes  used  in  the  churches ;  who  are  so  mery  as  thay  of  ye 
low  estate;  The  pr over  be  is  tru  yat  weddynge  ys  Destyne  ; 
The  Robery  at  Gaddes  Hill ;  holdeth  ancer  fast ;  be  mery, 
goodjone  ;  the  panges  of  love.  Moral  parodies  of  a  popular 
song,  hymns,3  satire  and  personal  attack,  rimes  about  a 
duke's  funeral  or  a  campaign  in  Scotland  or  any  nine  days' 
wonder, —  all  these,  with  an  occasional  ballad  of  tradition, 
are  entered  in  the  registers  under  the  convenient  name.4 
In  fact,  but  for  older  confusions,  we  might  almost  assign 
the  term  outright  to  the  realm  of  trade,  the  actual  making 
of  broadsides,5  and  so  give  up  all  attempt  to  define  its 
literary  meaning. 

1  Edited  by  Arber. 

2  Ibid.,  I,  96. 

3  The  transcriber  of  the  Asloane  MS.  (see  Schipper's  account  of 
it,  Poems  of  Dunbar,  I,  6  ff .)  in  his  table  of  contents  uses  "  ballat  " 
mainly  for  religious  poems  ;  though  The  Devil's  Inquest,  a  satire  by 
Dunbar,  has  the  same  name. 

4  By  a  sort  of  synecdoche,  any  popular  line  or  couplet  frem  one  of 
these  broadsides  came  to  be  called  a  ballad.      See  Murray's  English 
Dictionary,  s.  v.  Ballad,  No.  4. 

5  In  the  Athenceum  for  April  i6th,   1881,  Mr.  G.  Barnett  Smith 
communicates  the  Jext  of  "the  oldest   English  printed  ballad  in 
existence,"  A  Ballade  of  the  Scottyshe  Kynge,  by  John  Skelton,  in 
black-letter,  and  assigned  by  authorities  of  the  British  Museum  to 
the  year  1513.       (See  also  Skelton's  Works,  ed.  Dyce,  I,   182  ff., 
Skelton  Laureate  against  the  Scottes,  especially  p.   185  f.)      In   1882, 


xx  INTRODUCTION. 

Often,  again,  the  ballad  of  those  days  was  purely  a 
lyric,  whether  courtly  lay  to  a  mistress'  eyebrow,  or  rough 
country  strains  for  drink  and  dance,  such  as  Autolycus 
laid  in  for  his  rural  trade.  No  line  was  drawn  between 
the  song  and  the  ballad.  In  a  well-known  dialogue  of 
Walton's  "Angler,"  the  milk-woman  asks  :  "What  song 
was  it,  I  pray  ?  Was  it  Come,  Shepherds,  deck  your  heads, 
or  As  at  noon  Dulcina  rested,  or  Phillida  flouts  me,  or 
Chery  Chace,  or  Johnny  Armstrong,  or  Troy  Town?"1 
We  know,  too,  that  Sidney  uttered  his  famous  praise  of 
the  "  olde  song  of  Percy  and  Duglas. "  A  passage  in 
the  "Complaynt  of  Scotland" 2  speaks  of  certain  shepherds 
who  first  told  pleasant  tales,  and  then  sang  "sueit  sangis," 
one  of  which  is  the  lyric  "  Pastance  vitht  gude  companye," 
—  elsewhere3  called  "  The  Kyngis  Balade,"  because  of 
its  supposed  composition  by  Henry  VIII,  —  and  another, 
the  "  Hunttis  of  Chevet,"  or  the  older  version  of  Chevy 
Chace.  Finally,  the  shepherds  fell  to  dancing,  and  the 
author,  who  was  looking  on,  tells  us  as  many  of  the  dances 

Mr.  John  Ashton  published  this  ballad  in  fac-simile,  with  a  very  full 
introduction  (London,  Elliot  Stock).  The  poem  itself  is  a  taunting 
affair,  quite  in  Skelton's  vein,  without  narrative,  but  full  of  allusions 
and  personal  abuse.  It  has  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  our  tradi- 
tional ballads;  it  may  be  compared  (Works,  I,  22)  with  Skelton's 
more  agreeable  "  dyvers  Balettys  and  Dyties  solacyous,"  which  show 
French  influence  on  their  form,  and  have  a  complicated  though 
irregular  structure  of  the  stanza.  Here  narrative  occurs  ;  and  in 
contents,  at  least,  and  in  the  burden  (Hey,  lullay,  etc.),  one  of  these 
poems  approaches  our  traditional  ballads,  and  tells  a  tale  not  unlike 
that  of  the  "  Broomfield  Hill "  (Child,  Ballads,  Part  II,  p.  390). 

1  Again,  in  Chapter  xiv,  "the  good  old  song  of  the  Hunting  in 
Chezy  Chace,  or  some  other  good  old  ballad."     They  were  all  sung. 
For  the  tunes,  see  Chappell,  especially  I,  260.     There  is  a  grouping 
of  lyric  as  against  narrative  in  the  list,  but  the  name  is  indifferent. 

2  Edited  by  Murray  for  the  Early  English  Text  Soc.,  1872,  p.  63  ff.; 
with  commentary  on  the  titles,  p.  Ixxii  ff.  of  the  Introduction. 

3  In  a  Ms.  once  owned  by  Ritson,  now  in  the  British  Museum. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxi 

as  his  "ingyne  can  put  in  memorie";  among  others,  there 
were  "  The  Hunt's  Up,"  a  lively  tune,  "  Robene  hude," 
and  "  Ihonne  Ermistrangis  dance."  Whether  in  singing 
or  even  in  dancing,  little  distinction  was  made  between 
the  narrative  song  and  the  pure  lyric.  Ballads  of  every 
sort  were  hawked  about  the  land  in  baskets,1  or  sung  by 
"  blind  crowders  "  as  preliminary  to  a  sale.  In  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher's  "  Monsieur  Thomas,"  the  fiddler  gives  a 
list  of  his  "best  ballads,"  most  of  them  lyrical;  while  in 
"Rollo"2  three  culprits  sing  before  their  execution  a 
"ballad,"  with  a  well-known  refrain,3  in  imitation  of  those 
doleful  last  confessions  of  criminals,  the  so-called  Good 
Nights. 

But  we  may  find  wider  margins  for  the  word.  We  read 
of  a  translation,  made  in  those  days,  of  •"  The  Canticles 
or  Balades  of  Solomon,"4  a  title  that  would  have  pleased 
Herder.  Moreover,  alternating  with  the  ballad,  comes 
another  unstable  term  in  the  sonnet.  The  Lamentation 
of  George  Mannington  is  entered  in  the  books  of  the 
Stationers'  Company,  1576,  as  "a  woeful  ballad,"  and  is 
printed  in  a  collection  of  poems,  1584,  as  "a  sorrowfull 
sonet."5  The  close  connection  of  ballads  and  the  dance 
may  have  been  in  Udal's  mind  when  he  spoke6  of  "wanton 
daunsynges  or  folyshe  ballettes  wherewith  the  Gentiles 
crie  upon  theyr  devilles";  for  tunes  were  not  composed 

1  Country-houses,  inns,  and  the  like,  were  sure  to  have  ballads 
upon  the  walls.      (See  Addison,  Spectator,  No.  85.)      "  An  honest 
alehouse,"  says  Walton's  "  Angler,"  "  where  we  shall  find  a  cleanly 
room,  lavender  in  the  windows,  and  twenty  ballads  stuck  about  the 
wall,"  —  cleanly  ballads,  and  old,  we  feel  sure. 

2  End  of  Act  iii. 

3  The  tune  in  Chappell,  I,  216.     For  the  "hanging  tune"  used 
for  such  ballads  themselves,  see  Chappell,  I,  162. 

4  Printed  in  1 549.    In  the  Bishop's  Bible  it  is  The  Ballet  of  Ballets. 

5  Ritson's  Ancient  Songs  and  Ballads,  Ilazlitt,  p.  188. 

6  See  Richardson's  Dictionary,  s.  v. 


xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

in  that  day  exclusively  for  the  dance,  but  any  lively  ballad 
served  the  turn. 

Greater  dignity  than  of  the  broadsides  now  and  then 
invested  the  ballad,  as  when  Puttenham  speaks  of  the 
classical  lyric  poets  writing  "  songs  or  ballads  of  pleasure," 
or  calls  the  encomia  "  ballads  of  praise,"  mentioning,  too, 
the  "ballade  of  birth"  —for  a  prince  —  and  the  song  at 
nuptials  "done  in  ballade  wise."1  This,  however,  is  the 
academic  use  of  a  term  commonly  felt  to  be  an  affair  of 
the  street  or  roadside,  and  distinctly  opposed  to  loftier 
efforts  of  both  music  and  poetry.2  Among  many  causes 
for  this  low  estate  of  the  ballad  must  doubtless  be  reckoned 
the  scurrilous  attacks  on  people  or  institutions,  which 
were  printed  as  broadsides,  and  often  to  a  popular  tune  ; 
here  we  are  not  so  far,  except  in  a  metrical  way,  from  the 
ballade  of  Villon  and  the  ballet  of  Dunbar. 

Thocht  I  in  ballet  did  with  him  bourde, 

says  the  latter  in  his  palinode  about  James  Doig;  indeed, 
Dunbar's  frequently  complicated  arrangement  of  the 
stanza,  and  a  recurring  refrain,  suggest  models  far 
removed  from  the  verses  of  that  later  rout  whom 
Shakspere  knew,  the  "  scald  rhymers "  who  balladed 
out  o'  tune.3 

1  Arber's  Reprint  of  Puttenham's  Arte  of  English  Poesie,  pp.  40,  58, 
64  ff.     Of  love-lyrics  Puttenham  names  (p.  60)  "  odes,  songs,  elegies, 
ballads,  sonets,  and  other  ditties."      In  another  place  (p.  72)  he 
mentions  "enterlude,  song,  ballade,  carroll,  and  ditty,"  as  common 
names  for  "  our  vulgar  makings."     He  himself  had  made  a  "  brief 
Romance  or  historicall  ditty  in  the  English  tong  of  the  Isle  of  great 
Britaine  in  short  and  long  meetres,  and  by  breaches  or  divisions  to 
be  more  commodiously  song  to  the  harpe  ..."  (p.  57). 

2  "  Musicians  held  ballads  in  contempt,  and  great  poets  rarely 
wrote  in  ballad  metre."  —  Chappell,  I,  105. 

8  Of  course,  Dunbar  knows  the  other  signification  of  ballad  as  an 
amorous  lyric.  See  the  Twa  Mariit  IVemen,  480  ;  Targe,  103 
("ballettis  in  love");  and  his  complaint  of  winter  as  unfavorable  to 


fNTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

On  the  whole,  aside  from  remoter  origins,  the  ballad 
under  Elizabeth,  so  far  as  it  had  any  literary  meaning, 
evidently  covered  «n  the  one  hand  poems  of  love  or  satire 
which  more  or  less  vaguely  suggested  the  French  type, 
and,  on  the  other,  poems  independent  of  such  influence, 
pointing  back  to  the  traditional  ballad,  with  its  refrain, 
its  tune,  and  its  hints  of  the  dance.  But  any  occasional 
poem,  grave  or  gay,  which  appeared  as  a  broadside  could 
take  the  name  unchallenged. 

In  all  this  coil,  two  sources  of  confusion  are  clear  to 
the  critical  eye  ;  and  one  of  them  will  serve  to  explain  a 
certain  alternation  of  praise  and  scorn  in  contemporary 
judgment  of  the  Elizabethan  ballad.  For  the  less  import- 
ant evil,  we  have  noted  a  failure  to  distinguish  the  lyrical 
from  the  narrative.  In  a  merry  scene  of  the  Winter's 
Tale,1  country-folk  "  love  a  ballad  in  print,"  for  then  they 
are  sure  it  is  true,  —  that  is,  the  narrative  ballad,  the 
genuine  broadside  ;  while  presently  a  ballad  of  the  other 
sort  is  sung,  a  part-song,  in  which  the  pedler  Autolycus 
joins  because  it  is  his  "  occupation."  The  second  and 
more  serious  cause  of  trouble  is  the  confusion  between 
the  ballad  of  tradition  and  the  verses  of  men  like  Elder- 
ton,  "  who  did  arm  himself  with  ale  when  he  ballated," 
or  Tom  Deloney,  "the  balladihg  silk-weaver,"  who  could 
turn  into  rime  a  chapter  or  two  from  Malory,  and  so  make 
a  ballad  of  Sir  Lancelot.2  These  men  often  inserted 
genuine  old  ballads  in  collections  of  their  own,  and  got 
credit  for  "  Flodden  Field "  or  "  The  Fair  Flower  of 

the  making  of  "  sangis,  ballatis,  and  playis,"  Works,  ed.  Small,  II, 
233.  For  a  "  ballad  "  of  praise,  in  complicated  stanza  and  with 
constant  refrain,  see  the  Ballade  of  Lord  Bernard  Stewart.  A  later 
example  of  the  scurrilous  ballad  in  Scotland  is  A  Ballat  maid  upoun 
Margret  Fleming,  Satirical  Poems  of  the  Reformation,  ed.  Cranstoun, 
Scottish  Text  Soc.,  1891,  I,  391  ff.,  —  a  woeful  affair. 

1  iv,  4. 

2  So  think  Hales  and  Furnivall,  Percy  Folio,  I,  84. 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

Northumberland."  So  the  good  and  the  bad  fell  into 
one  class.  Shakspere  loved  an  old  ballad,  and  speaks 
his  mind  in  Orsino's  pretty  words;  but  there  is  sarcasm 
in  the  "  ballad-maker, "  of  other  passages.  Probably 
Elizabethans  recognized  the  difference,  but  they  did  not 
pick  terms  to  tell  it.  Indeed,  much  of  the  balladry  con- 
demned itself.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  respectable  poverty 
in  the  rude  chronicles  which  were  beaten  into  rime,  and 
Aubrey  said  that  his  nurse  could  repeat  in  ballads 
the  history  of  England  from  the  conquest  to  the  first 
Charles ; 1  but  Mr.  Stopford  Brooke  praises  the  ballading 
gentry  too  much  when  he  credits  them  with  the  educa- 
tional value  of  "a  modern  weekly  review."2  Much  of 
their  work  was  mere  shreds  and  tatters  of  sensation,  and 
so  persistent  that  "  scarce  a  cat  can  look  out  of  a  gutter 
.  .  .  but  presently3  a  proper  new  ballet  of  a  strange  sight 
is  indited."4  Trash  of  the  sort,  "rimes  that  run  in  large 
in  every  shop  to  sell,"  brought  the  whole  family  of  ballads 
into  contempt,  and  called  down  the  wrath  of  Puritan 
writers  even  in  the  days  of  Elizabeth.5  These  broadsides 
were  hawked  about  and  sung,  like  other  ballads.  Says  a 
couplet  prefixed  to  one  of  them  :G 

/  know  no  reason  btit  that  this  harmless  riddle 
May  as  well  be  printed  as  sung  to  a  fiddle. 

1  Percy  Folio,  -II,  265  ;   III,  163. 

2  Primer  of  Eng.  Lit.,  p.  73. 

3  /.  <?.,  1592.     See  Chappell,  I,  106. 

4  E.g.,  see  Arber  Reg.  Stat.  Co.,  I,  187,  for  a  ballad  on  the  birth  of 
a  "  monsterus  pygge." 

5  Percy  Society  Publications,    I,  p.  49.     Ballad-singers   were   sup- 
pressed along  with  "  stage-plays  "  in  1648. 

6  Percy    Collection    of   Broadsides,    Vol.   III.      Under   James    I, 
Deloney  and  others  began  to  collect  their  ballads  into  "  little  miscel- 
lanies," which  were  called  Garlands.     More  of  the  sort,  with  a  good 
introduction   by  Chappell,   may  be  found  in   the   Ballad   Society's 


INTRODUCTION.  xxv 

They  had  no  grace  of  tradition,  these  labored  verses, 
whether  didactic  or  scurrilous,  and  are  to  be  kept 
carefully  sundered  from  the  "  bunch  of  ballets  and 
songs,  all  auncient" — that  is,  ancient  in  1575  — owned 
by  Captain  Cox,1  or  from  such  songs  as  Moros  sings  by 
snatches  in  a  comedy 2  of  that  day,  and  says  he  can 
increase  at  will  : 

I  have  twentie  mo  songs  yet ; 
A  fond  woman  to  my  mother, 
As  I  -was  wont  in  her  lappe  to  sit, 
She  taught  me  these  and  many  other. 

Of  these  two  sources  of  confusion,  one  is  no  longer 
known,  while  the  other,  for  our  sins,  abides  with  us  and 
vexes  us  daily.  Ritson,  with  good  sense  of  the  solidest 
quality,  stated  for  English  usage  the  distinctipn  which 
now  obtains.  "  With  us,"  he  says,3  "  songs  of  sentiment, 

edition  of  the  Roxburghe  Ballads  (London,  1871  f.);  for  later  times, 
see  the  Bagford  Ballads  (Hertford,  1878  f.).  John  Ashton  has 
published  A  Century  of  Ballads,  1888. 

1  Furnivall,   Captain  Cox,    in    Ballad    Society  Publications,   1871. 
Laneham  wrote  his  famous  letter  from  Kenil worth  in   1575,  and  is 
very  full  of  the  captain,  who  hath  "  great  oversight  ...  in  matters 
of  storie"  and  has  at  his  fingers'  ends  such  "  histories  "  (note  the 
word)   as  "  Robinhood,  Clim  of    the    Clough,    The    King  and   the 
Tanner,  and  The  Nutbrown  Maid";    while  again  his  "balletts  and 
songs"  are  such  "az   Broom   broom  on  hil  .  .  .  Bony  lass  upon  a 
green  .  .  .  and  a  hundred  more  he  hath,  fair  wrapt  up  in  parch- 
ment ..." 

2  The  Longer  Thou  Livest  the  More  Foole  Thou  Art,  often  cited  : 
see  Ritson,  Anc.  Songs  and  Ball.,  LXXII  ff. 

8  "  A  Historical  Essay  on  the  Origin  and  Progress  of  National 
Song,"  being  the  introduction  to  his  Select  Collection  of  English 
Songs,  3  vols.,  2nd  ed.,  1813.  There  is  also  good  material  in  the 
introduction  to  his  Ancient  Songs  and  Ballads,  1790,  and,  edited  by 
Hazlitt,  1877  ;  see  both  the  "Essay  on  Minstrels,"  and  his  account 
of  old  songs  and  music.  In  the  introduction  to  his  Ancient  Engleish 
Metrical  Romancees,  he  defines  ballad  as  "  a  lyrical  narrative." 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

expression,  or  even  description,  are  properly  termed 
Songs,1  in  contradistinction  to  mere  narrative  compositions 
which  we  now  denominate  Ballads."  Germans,  too,  have 
thus  cleared  the  field.  "Our  mode  of  speech,"  says 
Scherer,2  "inclines  to  call  it  a  song  when  the  singer 
speaks  of  himself,  a  ballad  when  he  speaks  of  others."  3 
It  is  rather  the  confusion  of  traditional  with  artistic  or 
written  ballads, — not  so  much  inferior  songs  for  the 
rabble  as  imitations  of  the  ballad  by  poets  of  good  rank, 
— which  still  prevails,  and  allows  modern  usage  to  call 
by  one  name  "Chevy  Chace,"  "Barbara  Frietchie,"  and 
Mr.  Gilbert's  "  Rival  Curates."  With  this  word,  ballad, 
.  we  can  do  little  in  the  way  of  reform,  save  to  lament  the 
equivocation  of  the  fiend  who  first  flung  it  into  our  lan- 
guage ;  but  there  is  safety  in  an  adjective.  Professor 
Child  tatfes  "  popular "  for  his  refuge  ;  it  is,  perhaps, 
better  thus  to  ignore  the  distinction  of  volkspoesie 
and  volksthumliche  poesie,  than  to  seek  a  fantastic  title. 

1  Ritson's  taste  limped  behind  his  knowledge.     He  thinks  feeble 
ballads  of  Deloney  and  others  better  than   Chevy  Chace  ;  though 
in  a  note  to  Captain  Car  (Anc.  S.  and  B.,  p.  i8of.)  he  praises  such  a 
chanted  ballad  of  "  the  North  Countre  "  at  the  expense  of  work  by 
"  a  Grub-Street  author  for  the  stalls." 

2  Poetik,  p.  249  ;  but  see  his  Gesch.  d.  deutsch.  Lit.,  p.  257. 

3  We  have  no  space  for  the  detail  of  German  confusions,  especially 
in  the  use  of  Herder's  word  volkslied.     The  student  may  consult, 
besides    the  dictionaries,  Mullenhoff's   introduction   to   his   Sagen, 
Mdrchen  u.  Lieder  d.  Hcrzogthumer  Schleswig-Holstein  u.  Lauenburg, 
pp.  xxx,   xxxvi ;    Talvj,    Charakteristik   u.  s.  w.,  p.  8  ff . ;    Burger's 
Gedichte,  ed.  Tittmann,  pp.  xliii  f.,  liii  f.  ;    Vilmar,  Handbuchlein  f. 
Freunde  d.  deutschen    Volksliedes,   p.  138  f.  ;    Wackernagel,    Poetik, 
p.  96  f.  ;    Bohme,  Altdeutsches  Liederbuch,  pp.  xxi  f.,  xxviii  f.  (who, 
while  approving  Uhland's  word  volksballade,  notes  that  the  medieval 
term  for  song  or  poetry  of  the  people  was  in  Latin  carmen  vulgare, 
or  barbarum  or  rusticum,  but  never  populare,  and  in  the  vernacular 
always    Peasants'  Song,  Mountain    Song,   what   not,    until    Herder 
called  the  whole  genus  volkslied)  ;    and  Uhland,  Schriften,  VII,  12, 
360,  and  II,  587. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxvii 

As  a  mere  makeshift,  however,  one  might  use  the  word 
"  communal."  A  communal  ballad  is  a  narrative  ballad 
of  tradition  which  represents  a  community  or  folk,  not 
a  section  or  class  of  that  community,  and  not  a  single 
writer.  ^  f. 

III. 

Two  great  authorities,  Svend  Grundtvig  and  Ferdinand 
Wolf,  failed  to  agree  in  their  report  about  that  vexatious 
matter,  the  authorship  of  the  ballad  ;  but  on  one  point 
they  were  perfectly  united.  J^Alike  they  insisted  that  the 
ballad  must  be  the  outcome  and  the  expression  of  a 
whole  community,  and  that  this  community  must  be 
homogeneous  —  must  belong  to  a  time  when,  in  a  common 
atmosphere  of  ignorance,  so  far  as  book-lore  is  concerned, 
one  habit  of  thought  and  one  standard  of  action  animate 
every  member  from  prince  to  ploughboy3  {^Ballads  of  the 
primitive  type,  — of  course  we  do  not  know  them  in  their 
original  form, — were  the  product  of  a  people  as  yet 
undivided  into  a  lettered  and  an  unlettered  class.  When 
learning  came  among  the  folk,  it  drove  the  ballad  first  into 
byways,  and  then  altogether  out  of  living  literature. 
Ballads  cannot  be  made  now,  at  least  among  civilized 
races  ;  nor  can  a  cheap  pathos,  in  slovenly  or  vulgar 

1  Grundtvig  wrote  an  introduction  for  translations  by  Rosa  War- 
rens, Ddnische  Volkslieder  d.  Vorzeit,  Hamburg,  1858  ;  see  especially 
pp.  xvii  f.,  xxii.  Wolf  did  a  like  office  for  the  same  translator  in 
her  Schwedische  Volkslieder  d.  Vorzeit,  1857.  See  p.  xiv  ff.  See 
also  Motherwell's  attempt  (Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  I,  i6ff.)  to  draw 
"  thebounding-line  which  exists  between  what  is  the  Oral  and  what  is 
the  Written  poetry  of  a  people."  This  homogeneous  character  of  a 
ballad-making  folk,  by  the  way,  is  quite  enough  to  explain  the  high 
rank  of  most  personages  in  the  ballads,  —  princes,  knights  and  so 
on,  —  without  recourse  to  Wolf's  assumption  of  a  direct  origin  in 
aristocratic  circles  (Introd.,  p.  xix).  Translator  Prior  (Ancient 
Danish  Ballads,  1860,  I,  ix)  gallantly  concludes  that  for  most  of 
the  Scandinavian  ballads  we  are  indebted  to  the  original  composi- 
tion "of  the  ladies." 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

English,  even  when  backed  by  all  the  eccentricities  of  a 
printing-room,  be  foisted  upon  us  as  poetry  of  the  people. 
All  writers  on  the  communal  ballad  are  at*  one  in 
regard  to  its  entire  freedom  from  the  subjective  element. 
Nobody  has  defined  so  well  as  Sidney  Lanier1  this 
triumph  of  the  personal  artist  in  modern  letters  :  — 

Awful  is  Art  because  ''tis  free. 

The  artist  trembles  o'er  his  plan 
Where  men  his  Self  must  see. 
Who  made  a  song  or  picture,  he 

Did  it,  and  not  another,  God  nor  man. 

But  to  this  solitary  act  of  the  artist  in  verse,  an  act 
which  is  only  heightened  by  the  mirrorings  and  reactions 
wrought  through  transmission  on  paper,  we  must  oppose, 
for  poetry  of  the  people,  a  public  production  and  a  purely 
oral  and  unappropriated  transmission.  In  line  with 
this  general  necessity,  moreover,  we  may  note  certain 
recognized  traits  of  the  ballad.  Of  course,  they  are 
characteristic  traits  of  the  early  community  ;  "  naivete, 
sympathy,  faith,"  says  Weckerlin,  '2  not  too  incisively  ; 
and  Wilhelm  Grimm  is  still  more  hazy  in  his  assertion 3 
that  what  distinguishes  a  ballad  from  poems  of  art  is  that 
it  "knows  no  deserts,  but  thinks  of  the  world  as  all 
green  and  fresh  and  alive  with  poetry,  with  heaven 
above,  and  all  the  hairs  counted  on  every  head.  There- 
fore "  —  like  Chaucer's  Clerk  —  "  it  says  nothing  but 
what  is  needed,  what  corresponds  to  reality  ;  and  it 
despises  external  splendor."  .  .  .  Ferdinand  Wolf  goes 
more  into  particulars,  though  one  must  admit  that  these 

1  Hymns  of  the  Marshes,  II. 

2  La  Chanson  Populaire,  Paris,  1886,  p.  21. 

3  He  is  speaking  of  the  Danish  ballads,  Altddnische  Heldenlieder, 
p.  iii.     "  Like  heather  on  the  hill  and  the  birch  in  the  glen  "  is  a 
similar   definition    by  J.   S.    Blackie,   Scottish    Song,  p.  6 ;    another 
definition,  p.  21. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxix 

giants  of  ballad  criticism,  are  not  too  happy  in  the  way  of 
a  definition  ;  the  ballad^he  says,1  has  "  a  naive  objectivity, 
without  any  reflection,  any  sentimentalism  ;  it  has  lively, 
erratic  narrative,  full  of  leapings  and  omissions,  sudden 
change  from  narrative  to  dialogue,  no  ornamentation,  the 
art  of  making  with  few  strokes  a  vigorous  sketch  of 
events  and  situations.^]  Simplicity  of  thought  and  speech, 
he  adds,  are  in  the  ballad,  and  a  naturalness  that  borders 
on  savagery.  Another  critic 2  insists  on  the  spontaneous 
character  of  ballads  ;  they  never  give  us  poetry  for 
poetry's  sake,  but  are  born  of  an  occasion,  a  need  ;  they 
have  as  little  subjectivity  as  speech  itself.  These  are  the 
cardinal  virtues  of  the  ballad  ; 3  with  respect  to  its 
conditions,  critics  unite  in  regarding  oral  transmission 
as  its  chief  available  test.4 

fThe  ballad,  then,  must  give  us  the  sense  of  tradition, 
and  a  flavor  of  spontaneity  ;  riches  of  the  emotions  and  of 
direct  vision,  poverty  of  intellect  and  reflection.  Its 
poetic  diction  must  be  unschooled,  close  to  life,  and  no 
dialect,  although  full  of  recurring  phrases  which  give 
occasion  for  loose  talk  about  the  "ballad  slang."5  We 

1  Romanzenpoesie  d.  Spanier,  in  Wiener  Jahrbiicher,  CXVII,  126. 

2  Burdach,  in  Haupt's  Zeitschrift  fur  deutsches  Alterthum,  XXVII, 

344- 

8  See  also  Professor  Child  in  Johnson's  Cycloptedia,  1893,  I,  464, 
466. 

4  See  Brandl  in  Paul's  Grundriss  d.  germ.  Philblogie,  II,  i,  839. 

5  The  recurring  phrases  of  the  ballad  have  a  well-known  parallel  in 
epic,  and  are  a  mark  of  poetry  of  the  people.     Thus  they  are  as 
common  in  Russian  ballads  as  in  English  or  German :  see  Bistrom, 
Das  russische  Volksepos  in  the  Zeitschr.  f.  Volkerpsychol.,  etc.,  V,  188, 
193.     Motherwell,  Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  I,  7,  calls  them  "common- 
places ...  an  integrant  portion  of  the  original  mechanism  of  all  our 
ancient  ballads  .  .  .  one  of  their  most  peculiar  and  distinctive  char- 
acteristics."    It  is  evident  that  such  recurring  phrases  make  for  the 
communal  character  of  the  ballad.     An  artist  avoids  commonplaces, 
avoids  the  evident,  and  seeks  to  vindicate  his  own  self. 


xxx  INTRODUCTION. 

have  in  the  general  style  of  ballads  a  close  parallel  to  the 
early  stages  of  so-called  figures  of  speech.  The  primitive 
word  is  a  metaphor  in  an  unconscious  state ;  as  soon  as 
any  distinction  can  be  made  between  a  literal  expression 
and  a  metaphor,  the  latter  becomes  conscious  and  artistic. 
But  the  style  of  a  genuine  ballad  is  not  a  consciously 
poetical  style ;  for  it  is  not  ballads  that  form  a  dialect,  it 
is  the  schools.  From  Chaucer  to  Tennyson,1  in  spite  of 
one  reaction  after  another,  the  drift  of  poetry  has  been  to 
increase  and  isolate  the  dialect  of  the  schools ;  not  as  a 
theory,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  note  in  the  history  of 
English  verse  a  steady  widening  of  the  chasm  between 
the  speech  of  daily  life  and  the  language  of  poetry.2  A 
study  of  German  lyric  poetry  in  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth 
century  shows  us  the  same  process  from  a  simple  popular 
diction,  a  style  in  which  there  was  no  thought  of  express- 
ing individuality,  to  a  complicated  and  artistic  diction, 
offspring  of  the  schools. 

The  metre  of  a  ballad,3  while  not  obstreperously  rough, 
should  be  simple  ;  not  labored,  hardly  melodious  in  our 

1  When  Tennyson  speaks  of  "  the  chalice  of  the  grapes  of  God," 
or  gives  the  time  of  day  as  — 

Before  the  crimson-circled  star 
Had  fallen  into  her  father's  grave, 

he  is  reviving  the  obscure  scaldic  "  kenning  "  and  the  mythological 
puzzle  of  the  most  artificial  phase  in  all  Germanic  poetry. 

2  See  the  famous  remarks  of  Wordsworth,  in  his  preface  to  the 
Lyrical  Ballads,  on  these  "  arbitrary  and  capricious  habits  of  expres- 
sion," and  the  faults  of  "  poetic  diction." 

3  For  particulars,  see  appendix  on  metre.     Undoubtedly  the  pre- 
vailing measure  is  the  medieval  septenarius,  domesticated  in  English 
verse ;  but  this  raises  a  difficult  problem.     If  popular  poetry,  like 
Langland's,  held  so  tenaciously  to  the  old  Germanic  form  —  still 
vigorous  a  century  and  a  half  later  in  Dunbar's  well-known  verses  — 
why  should  the  ballads,  which  we  assume  to  represent  tradition  in 
its  most  positive  form,  turn  from  the  old,  and  take  up  the  new  and 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxi 

sense  of  the  word,  never  saccharine,  it  should  show  a 
clear  and  certain  sense  of  general  harmony.  Assonance 
must  often  do  the  work  of  rime  ;  and  sometimes  the  most 
heroic  "  slurring  "  fails  to  bring  order  out  of  the  chaos  ; 
in  such  moments,  however,  we  must  think  of  grammatical 
changes,  of  local  forms,  and  of  the  chances  of  print. 

The  antithesis  of  schools  and  people  would  cause  us  to 
expect  little  from  ballads  in  the  way  of  trope  or  figure  ; 
and  this  we  find  to  be  the  case.1  Figures  are  few  and 
recurrent,  always  unforced,  and  for  the  most  part  uncon- 
scious. Steenstrup,  in  his  excellent  study  of  Scandi- 
navian ballads,  says  that  they  "  talk  like  a  mother  to  her 
child  "  and  have  "  scarcely  a  kenning  "  ; 2  while  Wilhelm 
Grimm  long  ago  noted  the  absence  of  figures  in  the  Nibe- 
lungen  Lay  as  compared  with  the  poems  of  Wolfram.3 

" intellectualized  "  measure?  Where,  moreover,  were  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  ballads?  Chappell  rejects  with  some  sharpness  (II,  796)  the 
notion  that  English  popular  music  was  taken  or  imitated,  in  the  first 
instance,  from  the  music  of  the  church  ;  but  ballad  measure  and 
even  rime  —  though  this  is  not  at  all  sure  • —  are  now  generally 
referred  to  such  a  source. 

1  Here  again  we  have  a  contrast  with  Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  and 
apparent  breach  with  tradition.     Instead  of  the  riot  of  tropes,  the 
constant  "  variation,"  ballads  give  us  naked  and  literal  language. 
But  this  is  not  so  hard  to  explain.     We  have  no  simple,  popular 
verse  from  Anglo-Saxon  times  ;    monk  and  minstrel  had  made  a 
school. 

2  Vore  Folkeviser,  pp.  196,  204. 

3  Heldensage?  p.  287.  —  The  absence  of  similes  from  old  German 
poetry  is  so  marked  that   Miillenhoff  and  Scherer  considered  the 
assumption  of  them  sufficient  to  condemn  a  certain  interpretation, — 
Denkmaler?  II,  131.     It  is  the  good  pastor's  zeal,  rather  than  his 
accuracy,  which  leads  Neocorus  (Chronik,  ed.  Dahlmann,  I,  176)  to 
remark  of  the  ballads  of  the  Cimbrian  peninsula,  "  dat  fast  nicht  ein 
Tropus  edder  Figura  in  der  edlen  Redekunst,  so  nicht  in  einen  edder 
mehr  Gesengen  konde  gewist  werden."     Mullenhoff  (Sagen,  U.S.TV., 
p.  xxxiv)  notices  that  the  ballads  of  this  same  country  have  really 
"few  figures  and  comparisons." 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION. 

The  language  of  primitive  or  simple  passion  is  iteration, 
not  figure ;  and  the  ballads,  poor  in  figures,  are  full  of 
iteration.  In  fact,  the  chief  mark  of  ballad  style,  as  it  is 
found  irr  such  survivals  as  are  given  in  the  present  collec- 
tion, is  a  sort  of  progressive  iteration.  The  question  is 
repeated  with  the  answer ;  each  increment  in  a  series  of 
related  facts  has  a  stanza  for  itself,  identical,  save  for  the 
new  fact,  with  the  other  stanzas  ; l  and  in  every  way  a 
note  of  iteration  dominates  the  style  of  our  ballads. 

From  any  list  of  ballads  which  agree  with  these  condi- 
tions, and  spring  from  the  community,  it  would  seem  that 
we  ought  to  exclude  the  ballad  of  satire  and  abuse.  It 
appears  at  first  sight  to  be  hedged  about  with  a  singular 
and  personal  depravity.  We  even  find  evidence  of  a 
laureate  in  this  art ;  for  Kluge  suggests  that  our  old  Eng- 
lish word  for  poet  is  really  the  same  thing  as  "  scoffer."  2 
Every  Icelander  was  expected  to  hold  his  own  in  these 
encounters,  and  Gunnlaug  Snake-Tongue  got  the  nick- 
name by  dexterity  in  the  composition  of  satiric  verses ; 
often  such  a  stanza  of  sarcasm  was  cut  on  a  prominent 
rock,  like  our  modern  advertisements.  All  this,  it  is  true, 
smacks  of  the  artist ;  but  we  find  more  general  satire. 
We  think  of  those  songs  which  Goethe's  Gretchen 
dreaded,  or  Shakspere's  Helena  invited  if  she  should 
attempt  to  cure  the  king  and  fail.  We  think  of  the 
legions  making  a  ballad  about  Caesar,  or  of  Roland  and 
his  dread  lest  he  and  his  men  should  be  held  up  to  ridi- 
cule in  song.3  The  church  had  much  trouble  with  these 

1  Out  of  a  host  of  examples  we  may  instance  the  ballad  of  li  Kemp 
Owyne." 

2  Scop.      See    Kluge   in   Englische  Studien,  VIII,    480   ff. ;    and 
Miillenhoff  on  the  gloss  scofleod,  in  Haupt's  Zst.,  IX,  128.     We  can- 
not here  discuss  the  "  flyting." 

8  Chanson  de  Roland,  1008  ff.  To  serve  the  king,  says  Roland, 
one  must  endure  heat  and  cold,  perils  of  every  kind,  "  so  that  no 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxiii 

communal  songs  of  satire,  and  put  them  down  only  with 
great  difficulty ;  for  they  seem  to  have  been  a  legacy 
from  heathen  Europe.  They  touched  politics  as  well  as 
religion.  Satiric  ballads  often  arose  from  the  hatred  of 
folk  for  folk,  nation  for  nation,  like  the  songs  made  after 
Bannockburn,  and  sung  with  a  refrain  "in  daunces,  in 
the  carols  of  the  maidens  and  minstrels  of  Scotland,  to 
the  reproofe  and  disdaine  of  Englishmen." l  Of  more 
interest,  however,  for  our  present  task  is  the  evidence 
that  a  ballad  of  satire  could  have  a  distinctly  communal 
origin,  that  its  actual  creation  could  be  in  the  community 
and  —  if  the  expression  will  pass  — by  the  community. 
Moreover,  this  satiric  ballad  was  sung  in  the  same  place, 
by  the  same  people,  and  for  the  same  purpose,  as  the 
heroic  ballad  of  tradition.  In  Pastor  Lyngbye's  valuable 
book,2  we  read  of  such  a  satiric  ballad  made  by  the  Faroe 
Islanders.  It  is  in  derision  of  some  unfortunate  fisher- 
man, who  comes  to  the  public  dance,  is  seized  by  a  couple 
of  stalwart  comrades,  and  pushed  out  before  the  throng 
—  that  is,  before  the  whole  community.  Then  the  ballad 
which  mocks  some  misadventure  of  his,  known  to  all  the 
folk,  is  sung  by  the  dancing  crowd,  —  a  few  at  first,  then 
all ;  with  facts  so  given,  spontaneous  production  is  easy 
enough;  and  so,  verse  upon  verse,  they  make  the  man 

bad  songs  shall  be  sung  about  us,"  male  canfuu  ja  cantee  n'en  seit! 
Nyrop  quotes  Iliad,  vi,  358,  as  a  parallel  case.  Moreover,  who  of 
us  does  not  know  the  remorseless  rimes,  largely  spontaneous,  which 
a  band  of  children  can  rain  in  chorus  upon  the  head  of  some  un- 
popular urchin  ? 

1  Fabyan's  Chronicle,  from  which  this  is  taken,  was  written  long 
after  the  event,  and  is  not  too  trustworthy. 

2  Fczroiske  Quader  om  Sigurd,  etc.,  Randers,  1822.     P.  E.  Miiller 
writes  the  preface,  and  quotes  from  Lyngbye's  journal.     Our  quota- 
tion is  found  at  p.  14.     A  few  additional  details  in  V.  U.  Hammers- 
haimb,  Fcsr0sk  Anthologi,  I,  Copenhagen,  1891,  p.  xli  ff. 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

dance  to  his  own  shame.1  More  than  this,  if  the  ballad 
wins  general  applause  it  remains  from  year  to  year  a 
permanent  source  of  pleasure  and  diversion.  A  more 
striking  antithesis  to  our  ordinary  notions  could  hardly 
be  found  ;  the  poet  or  artist  vanishes ;  the  singer,  reciter, 
publisher,  takes  the  background ;  and  in  the  fore- 
ground stands  the  object  —  not  subject  merely  —  of 
the  song.  Instead  of  the  poet's  mood,  the  poet's 
sensations  and  manner,  we  have  the  mood,  sensations 
and  manner  of  the  object  which  called  out  the  ballad. 
What  reversal  of  attitude,  compared  with  Keats  and  his 
nightingale  ! 

This  gregarious  song  of  satire,  as  opposed  to  the 
personal  attack,  brings  us,  as  the  opposition  of  traditional 
and  made  ballads  brought  us,  to  our  knottiest  problem. 
If  the  chief  characteristics  of  a  ballad  are  those  which 
belong  to  the  product  of  a  community  rather  than  to  the 
work  of  an  artist,  and  so  force  us  to  abandon  certain 
ideas  inseparable  from  recent  poetry,  how  far  are  we  to 
go  in  this  surrender  of  the  modern  standard,  and  in  what 
degree  shall  we  hold  the  community  responsible  for  the 
actual  making  of  a  ballad  ?  Where,  if  at  all,  are  we  to 
admit  an  individual  poet  in  the  process  ? 

1  The  editor  is  indebted  to  Professor  G.  L.  Kittredge  for  a 
reminder  of  the  "  communal  spontaneity "  in  that  vivid  scene  of 
Bj^rnson's  Fiskerjenten  (Chap.  V),  where  the  mob  sings  an  insulting 
song  before  poor  Petra's  door  ;  and,  further,  for  a  reference  to 
O'Curry,  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  Ancient  Irish,  II,  70,  where 
we  are  told  that  Laidcenn,  in  revenge  for  the  slaughter  of  his  son, 
poured  forth  for  a  year  his  poetic  satire  upon  the  men  of  Leinster, 
"  so  that  neither  corn,  grass,  nor  foliage  could  grow  for  them  during 
the  whole  year."  (See  II,  216  ff.)  The  connection  of  satiric  poetry 
with  older  magic,  with  runes,  charms,  and  the  like,  is  too  wide  a 
subject  for  further  comment  here. 


INTRODUCTION.      \  xxxv 


The  answers  to  this  important  question  of  origins  may 
be  divided  into  two  groups.  One  party,  formerly  strong, 
but  now  in  evident  minority,  declares  that  the  people  as 
a  whole  and  a  unit,  make  what,  the  phrase  says  they 
make,  poetry  of  the  peopleTl  (^Another  party,  now  in 
the  majority,  asserts  that  poetry  of  the  people  is  made 
as  any  other  poetry  is  made,  except  that  it  is  subject  to 
purely  oral  transmission,1  and  therefor^  to,  infinite  varia- 
tion and  the  chances  of  popular  controLj J 

Before1  we  approach  this  problem  by  the  long  path 
of  a  century  of  criticism,  and  before  we  attempt  the  slow 
sifting  of  other  material,  it  seems  in  order  to  get  a  clear 
idea  of  what  the  more  aggressive  party  meant  by  its 
claim  of  communal  authorship.  Among  the  last  words 
which  came  from  the  pen  of  ten  Brink,  in  a  fragment 2 
dealing  with  theories  about  poetry  of  the  people,  that 
(accomplished  scholar  refers  explicitly  to  an  article  by 
Steinthal,  in  the  Journal  of  Race-Psychology,3  which 
seems  to  be  a  confession  of  faith  on  the  part  of  those 
who,  like  Jacob  Grimm,  believe  in  communal  authorship 
of  the  ballad.  ( In  effect,  ten  Brink  signs  this  declaration, 
modifying  it  here  and  there,  but  adhering  to  the  spirit  of 
it.  Again,  in  that  introduction,  already  quoted,  which 
Grundtvig  wrote  for  the  translations  of  Rosa  Warrens,4 
we  find  words  which  go  far  to  rank  their  distinguished 

1  Brandl,  in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  839. 

2  See   ten    Brink    in    Paul's    Grundr.,   II,   i,    515;    and   also   the 
former's  Beowulf,  p.  7. 

3  One  fairly  flounders  in  the  attempt  to   English  this  Zeitschrift 
fur  Volkerpsycfiologie  und  Sprachwissenschaft. 

4  See  the  passage  (p.  xxiii)  beginning  :     "  Darum  ist  das  Volks- 
Individuum  als  solches,  nicht  das  einfache   Menschen-Individuum, 
als  Dichter  der  Volkspoesie  zu  betrachten  .  .  ." 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

author  in  the  same  list  of  believers  with  Grimm  and 
Steinthal.  Despite  the  coldness  or  open  derision  of 
other  modern  critics  in  regard  to  this  matter  of  com- 
munal authorship,  despite  the  distinct  denial  of  F. 
Wolf,1  we  cannot  laugh  out  of  court  a  case  defended  by 
two  such  advocates  as  Grundtvig  and  ten  Brink  ;  and,  at 
least,  we  must  give  it  a  hearing. 

In  an  opening  editorial  article,  something  hazy  withal, 
Steinthal  and  Lazarus  tell  readers  of  their  new  journal 2 
what  they  mean  by  this  race,  this  "folk."  The  spirit 
of  the  race,  presently  to  be  set  up  as  poet  of  our  ballad, 
would  seem  to  be  a  "monad"  which  at  once  penetrates 
and  binds  together  the  individuals,  yet  is  really  created 
and  sustained  by  them.3  Not  common  descent,  not  com- 
mon language,  make  a  "folk"  ;^t_js.jjlP  sense^nf  unity 
in  all  the  individuals.  This  unity,  this  spirit  of  the  race, 
manifests  itself  first  in  speech,  then  in  myth,  then  in 
religious  rites,  then  in  poetry,  then  in  art,  then  in  cus- 
tom ;  after  long  tradition,  custom  gives  birth  to  law.yTh 
other  words,  poetry  of  the  people  is  made  by  any  given 
race  through  the  same  mysterious  process  which  forms 
speech,  cult,  myth,  custom,  or  law./ 

Eight  years  later,5  Steinthal  grappled  directly  with  the 
problem  of  authorship,  and  tried  to  set  forth  the  doctrine 
that  a  whole  race  can  make  poems.  /The  individual,  he 
maintained,  is  the  outcome  of  culture  and  long  ages 
of  development,  while  primitive  races  show  simply  an 
aggregate  of  men.  Sensation,  impulse,  and  sentiment 

1  Wolf    is    as   emphatic   on    the   other  side.       Introduction   to 
Schwed.    Volksl.    (Rosa  Warrens),  p.  xv ;    not    "  von   einem    nebu- 
losen  Dichteraggregat,  Volk  genannt,"  but  "von  einem  dichtenden 
Subject,"  come  our  traditional  ballads. 

2  1860. 

8  Ztst.  f.  Volkerpsy.  u.  Sprachw.,  I,  29. 
*  Ibid.,  39,  44,  47  ff. 
5  Ibid,,  V,  i  ff. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxvii 

must  be  quite  uniform  in  the  uncivilized  community,  — 
what  one  feels,  all  feehJjA  common  creative  sentiment 
throws  out  the  word,  and  makes  language,  —  throws  out 
the  song,  and  makes  poetry.  No  one  owns  a  word,1  a 
law,  a  story,  a  custom.  No  one  owns  a  song.  "  Singing," 
says  Steinthal,  is  what  we  ought  to  say,  not  "song";  for 
all  is  in  flux.  Dip  from  the  brook  a  pailful  of  water,  and 
one  has  captured  no  brook  ;  write  down  a  version  of  some 
folksong,  and  it  is  no  folksong  more.  There  is  no  sta- 
bility about  it ;  among  Russians  or  Servians,  a  song  of 
eight  or  ten  lines  has  endless  variations.  An  Italian  girl 
sang  a  song  several  times,  but  each  time  sang  it  with  a 
difference  ;  when  asked  the  reason,  she  said  she  could 
not  help  it,  as  the  thing  came  to  her  so,  • —  mi  iriene  cost. 

With  these  and  other  arguments,3  Steinthal  sought  to 
put  on  the  basis  of  psychology  and  common  sense  a 
theory  of  the  ballad  already  held  by  many  to  be  vague, 
contradictory,  and  mistaken.  Ten  Brink  plainly  tells  us, 
however,  that  from  this  article  he  has  "  learned  the 
most "  in  regard  to  the  nature  and  origin  of  poetry 
of  the  people ;  and  \ve  shall  presently  see  how  he  tries 
to  supply  what  Steinthal  left  undone.  t-The  weak  place 
of  the  essay  is  its  failure  to  answer  the  question  °tf.jt/. 
ways  and  means.  How  got  the  apples  in  ?  How  does 
a  song  cross  the  gulf  between  this  spirit  of  the  race,  this 
latent  community  of  sentiment,  and  the  concrete  fact  of 
melody  and  words  ?7  If,  indeed,  we  could  only  assume 
the  primitive  community  to  have  been  like  the  folk 
whom  Alice  met  in  Wonderland,  all  "thinking  in  chorus," 
it  would  be  a  plain  matter.  But  it  is  not  a  plain  matter  ; 

1  Scherer's  Poetik  defends  the  primitive  artist  even  as  a  maker  of 
words,  and    throughout   pleads   for   the    unity   of    poetry   against 
any  hard   and   fast    division  into  poetry  of  the  people  and  poetry 
of  the  schools. 

2  Dealing  with  that  outcome  of  a  certain  class  of  ballads,  the  Epos. 


xxxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

and  our  prosaic  time,  to  judge  by  a  show  of  hands,  is 
inclined  to  side  with  the  late  Professor  Scherer.1  He 
insisted  upon  oral  or  written  transmission  as  the  only 
test  of  poetry  of  the  people  and  poetry  of  the  schools. 
"  Poetry,"  he  declared,  "  is  one  and  the  same  at  all 
times  ;  it  is  the  times  which  change." 

Clearly  we  are  not  to  pronounce  an  off-hand  opinion. 
However  tedious  the  task,  we  must  review  the  course 
of  criticism  in  this  field,  and  then  try  to  come  to  some 
conclusion  for  ourselves.  We  cannot  avoid  this  question 
of  origins,  for  it  involves  the  essence  and  the  criteria  of 
all  ballads  of  tradition. 

V. 

We  are  now  to  pass  in  review  a  century  of  criticism,  and 
we  must  naturally  begin  with  the  pioneer,  —  dithyrambic, 
impetuous  Herder,  whose  almost  truculent  enthusiasm 
first  secured  a  hearing  for  the  claims  of  popular  poetry. 
Herder,  not  Percy  ;  for  while  the  bishop  nobly  heads  the 
list  of  collectors  and  editors,  he  founded  no  school  of 
criticism.  Moreover,  England  needed  no  such  trumpetings 
and  onslaught ;  she  had  never  allowed  a  certain  homebred 
fondness  for  this  sort  of  verse  to  be  crushed  by  foreign 
standards.  At  any  time  when  literary  interests  seemed 
utterly  hostile  to  the  ballad,  some  one  —  Sidney,  Addison,2 
Goldsmith,  —  was  sure  to  say  a  good  word  for  it. 
Garrulous  Pepys  made  his  collection  of  broadsides,  and 

1  See  his  Poetik,  Berlin,   1888  ;   and  his  Jacob  Grimm,  2nd  ed., 
1885,  p.  146. 

2  See  especially  Spectator,  70,  74  ;  we  note  that  Ben  Jonson,  who 
poured  contempt  enough  on  the  ballading  gentry,  would  rather  have 
been  the  author  of  Chevy  Chace  "  than  of  all  his  works."    Sidney's 
praise   is  well  known  :   see  Cook's  edition   of  the  Defense,  p.   29. 
Dryden  had  a  good  opinion  of  ballads,  and  so  had  "  the  witty  Lord 
Dorset."     See  Spectator,  85,  and  Percy,  preface  to  the  Reliques. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

Rowe,  taking  a  plot  from  the  ballads,  lauded  them 
distinctly  in  the  preface  to  his  "  Jane  Shore  "  ;  while 
men  of  such  opposite  tastes  as  Gray  and  Garrick  were 
interested  in  songs  of  the  people. 

Very  different  was  the  state  of  affairs  on  the  continent. 
Ballads  and  songs  were  looked  upon  as  little  better 
than  intellectual  outcasts.  "  Seventy  years  ago,"  says 
Ferdinand  Wolf  in  1846,  at  the  opening  of  his  classic 
essay  on  Spanish  Ballads,  "  seventy  years  ago,  a  university 
professor  would  have  felt  insulted  by  the  mere  idea  of 
any  academic  attention  to  songs  of  the  people,  even  of 
his  own  people."  A  school  of  criticism  founded  on  the 
traditions  of  the  humanists  and  refinements  of  Frenchmen 
like  Boileau,  would  not  give  the  ballad  so  much  as  a 
hearing.  Exceptions  go  for  little.  Montaigne  had  said 
a  good  word  for  ballads  ;  so  had  Malherbe  ;  and  we 
remember  Moliere  in  the  "  Misanthrope."  But  nobody 
looked  on  the  poetry  of  the  people  as  a  serious  literary 
fact. 

So  far  as  Germany  is  concerned,  signs  of  change  appear 
about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  ;  and  this 
change,  as  everybody  knows,  was  largely  inspired  by 
English  example.  Words  like  "genius"  and  "nature" 
were  bandied  about ;  and  while  around  the  latter  term 
gathered  the  ideas  of  Rousseau,  the  former  was  more 
and,  more  associated  with  Shakspere. l 
/Now  came  a  number  of  important  critical  treatises, 
aU  making  in  one  direction,  all  insisting  on  "  nature  " 
and  "  genius."  Of  prime  importance  were  Young's 
"  Conjectures  on  Original  Composition,"  translated  at 
once  into  German,  Robert  Wood's  remarkable  essay 

1  In  1737,  Germany's  leading  critic,  writing  about  English  drama, 
had  not  mentioned  the  name  of  Shakspere.  In  1762,  Wieland's 
prose  translation  of  his  plays  was  in  all  hands.  Koberstein,  Gesch. 
d.  d.  Lit.,  II,  1342. 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

"  On  the  Original  Genius  of  Homer,"  and  Lowth's 
Oxford  lectures  "  On  the  Sacred  Poetry  of  the  Hebrews." 
The  old  idols  began  to  totter,  as  when  Joseph  Warton 
appeared  with  an  urbane  protest  against  Pope.  Nature 
and  humanity  should  be  the  field  of  the  poet,  and  in 
naturalness  and  original  genius  should  lie  his  power. 
Poetry,  said  Blair  in  his  Rhetoric,  "  is  the  language  of  the 
emotions."  To  this  candle-light  of  the  students  came 
the  wildfire  of  Ossian, l  and  at  last,  in  1765,  the  sunrise 
of  the  Reliques. 

Meanwhile,  Germany  had  nearer  promptings.  About 
this  time  were  published,  in  whatever  faulty  shape,  the 
Nibelungen  Lay,  the  Songs  of  the  Minnesingers,  and 
many  of  the  old  Scandinavian  poems.  Gleim  revived 
the  ballad,  seriously,  and  not  simply  in  burlesque,  as  a 
form  for  modern  imitation ;  and  even  Lessing,  who 
thought  but  little  of  the  Nibelungen,  had  a  good  word 
for  ballads  of  the  better  sort.2  Then  came  an  oracle  ; 
the  famous  Magician  of  the  North  spoke  certain  mighty, 
but  nigh  unintelligible,  words  about  the  nature  of  poetry.3 
All  literary  production,  contended  Hamann,  is  successful 
only  when  it  concentrates  the  entire  mental  and  moral 
force  of  the  writer  upon  his  work.  Divided  power  is 
wasted  power.  The  emotions  and  intellect  must  work 
together,  and  nowhere  is  this  so  true  as  in  poetry. 

1  Grotesque  but  well-meant  imitations  of  the  ballad  were  made  by 
Percy's  friend  Shenstone  (Jemmy  Dawson,  about  1745),  and  later  by 
Mickle  (Hengist  and  Mey,  a  ballad,  1772  ;  and  the  song,  There's  nae 
luck   about  the   House).     Actual  forgery  of  the  ballad  had  already 
begun  ;  Lady  Wardlaw's  Hardy knut  appeared  in  1719. 

2  See  No.    33   of   the  Brief e  die  neueste  Liter -after  betreffend,    19 
April,  1759. 

3  See  Goethe's  admiring  account  of  Hamann,  Wahrheit  u.  Dicht- 
ung,  Hempel  ed.,  Ill,  63  ff.     Devil's  advocate,  however,  is  Gervinus 
(Gesch.  d.  d.  Lit.,  IV,  436  ff.,  ed.  1843),  w^°  thinks    Hamann  more 
than  half  imbecile. 


INTRODUCTION.  xli 

"  Poetry,"  said  he,  in  memorable  phrase,  "  is  the  mother- 
tongue  of  man " ;  the  less  this  large  utterance  is 
hampered  by  learned  restrictions,  the  better  for 
poetry  and  for  mankind.  Poetry  must  be  spontaneous, 
immediate,  no  work  of  reflection.  Now,  all  these 
things,  and  many  more,  tending  to  glorify  primitive  and 
popular  poetry,  fell  with  oracular  force  upon  the  ears  of 
Herder. 

To  study  Herder,  that  eupeptic  Carlyle,  is  to  study 
poetry  of  the  people.1  His  criticism  follows  a  straight 
path.  He  is  fain  to  establish  the  canons  and  tests  of 
poetry  as  lying  chiefly  in  its  immediate  dependence  upon 
nature,  upon  genius,  free  from  rule  or  model.  He  would 
bring  all  poetry  into  connection  with  its  environment 
of  race  and  country.  Following  lines  which  led  him 
through  the  philosophy  of  language  to  the  philosophy  of 
history,  he  treats  the  human  race  as  a  whole,  and  insists 
that  its  childhood  was  the  golden  age  of  poetry,  as  well 
in  language  as  in  sentiment.  "  What,"  he  asks,  in  his 
essay  on  the  Origin  of  Language,  "  what  was  earliest 
speech  but  a  collection  of  the  elements  of  poetry  ?  .  .  . 
A  dictionary  of  the  soul  —  what  else  is  poetry?"2  In 
his  "  Letters  about  Ossian  and  the  Songs  of  Ancient 
Races,"  he  tells 3  an  imaginary  correspondent  that 
"  wild,"  when  applied  to  a  primitive  race  and  its  poetry, 
means  "  livelier,  freer,  more  sensuous,  of  greater  lyric 
power  and  range."  The  further  a  race  is  removed  from 
learned  habits  of  thought,  the  better  its  "  lyrical,  living, 
and  dance-like  songs."  He  translates  our  own  ballad 
\"  Edward  "  as  a  specimen  of  such  natural  poetry.  Such, 

1  Quotations  are  from   Suphan's  admirable  edition  of   Herder's 
amplete  works. 

2  Works,  V,  56. 

3  Ibid.,  V,  164  ;  written  in  1773.     See,  also,  preface  to  the  second 
part  of  the  Volkslieder,  Works,  XXV,  314. 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

too,  was  the  epos  of  Homer,  such  the  poems  of  Ossian ; 
and  these,  like  all  early  poetry,  were  impromptus.  Else- 
where he  couples  Homer  and  Moses  as  two  of  the 
greatest  "  singers  of  the  people."  "  Read  Homer  as  if 
he  were  singing  in  the  streets  !  " 

After  the  great  period  of  primitive  verse  we  meet  the 
minstrels,  who  walked  a  like  spontaneous  path  of  poetry, 
but  with  weaker  and  weaker  steps,  until,  says  Herder, 
"  art  came  along,  and  extinguished  nature."  Poetry  lost 
its  strength,  its  inevitableness,  and  became  a  tottering 
thing,  like  the  "  corrected  exercises  of  a  schoolboy." 
This  is  all  in  the  familiar  eighteenth  century  hysterics  ; 
bnt  we  get  a  hint  of  cause  and  effect,  of  sober  origins, 
in  a  prize-essay  "  On  the  Causes  of  Decadence  and 
Corruption  in  Taste." l  {Homer,  says  our  author,  was 
great  because  of  his  conract  with  an  age  when  "  writing 
and  prose  were  not  invented,"  and  when  heroic  traditions 
still  living  in  the  mouths  of  the  people  "  of  themselves 
took  on  poetic  form."  Here  is  one  of  those  oracular  and 
nebulous  phrases  which  the  age  presently  hugged  so  to 
its  heart  ;  but  with  Herder  it  is  no  theory  of  origins.  It 
is  simply  a  remark  incidental  to  his  purpose  of  heaping 
scorn  upon  the  puny  schools  of  his  day,  and  of  lauding 
the  poetry  of  nature  and  of  spontaneity.2  For  he  is 
convinced  that  the  chief  shock  came  to  poetry  with 
the  invention  of  printing,  with  learned  verse,  and  the 
consequent  separation  of  it  from  the  common  people. 

1  Works,  V,  593  ff.     See  also  601  f.,  6i3f.,6i6ff.     On  p.  617  one 
seems  to  be  reading  Taine. 

2  See  the  essay  on   Effect  of  Poetry  upon   Popular  Morals,  etc., 
Works,  VIII,  334  ff.      In  another  place,  however,  (XXV,  332  f.)  he 
tells  us  that  if  the  spirit  of  a  ballad  be  good,  actual  contents  are  of 
little  moment ;  for  the  bad  will   of  itself  fall  away  with   time,  and 
the  stanzas  will   right  themselves  into  harmony.     But  we   cannot 
hold    Herder  to  any  theory  of  origins,  because  of  such   figurative 
talk. 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

"  Aforetime,"  runs  his  Jeremiad,  "  these  songs  rang  out 
in  a  living  circle,  sung  to  the  harp  and  animated  by  the 
voice,  the  vigor  and  the  courage  of  the  singer  or  poet  ; 
now  "  —  that  is,  with  printing,  —  "  they  stood  fixed  in 

black  and  white,  prettily  printed  on rags  !  "     The 

poet  now  wrote  "  for  a  paper  eternity,"  where  once  he 
had  sung  to  the  living  heart  and  to  the  listening  ear. 
And  this  audience  of  old  time  was  no  class,  no  fragment, 
but  the  race  itself.  "Folk,"  cries  Herder,  "that  does 
not  mean  the  rabble  of  the  streets."  x 

Thus  his  doctrine,  his  sermon.  But  there  is  something 
to  be  learned  from  his  selections  and  translations,2  which 
did  so  much  to  beget  a  taste  for  ballads.  Like  Percy, 
Herder  included  in  his  collection  much  that  could  not  be 
brought  under  the  head  of  ballads  ;  bits  of  the  Edda, 
soliloquies  from  Shakspere,  even  sheer  vers  de  societe,  were 
mixed  with  ballads  like  "  Edward,"  in  order  to  rescue  his 
chances  with  the  public.3  Yet  Herder  would  evidently 
include  the  plays  of  Shakspere  in  his  poetry  of  the 
people.  He  cared  little  or  nothing  for  origins/"~if  a 
poem  seemed  to  express  thought  or  emotion  of  a  nattonal 
character,  if  it  smacked  of  outdoor  life  and  not  of  the 
study,  it  fell  under  his  category  of  volkslied.  He  did  not 
ask  whether  it  came  from  a  community  or  race  as  a 
representative  creation,  as  their  own  making,  but  whether, 
whatever  its  origin,  it  would  express  any  race  or  commu- 
nity, and  correspond  to  their  taste,  their  sentiment,  their 

1  Works,  XXV,  323. 

2  The  first  edition  was  printed  in   two  parts,  and  bore  the  title 
Volkslieder  (1777  and  1778 )  ;  whereas  the  second  edition  was  called 
Stimmen  der  Volker.     But  there  was  a  still  earlier  collection   than 
these,  now  first  made  public  by  Suphan,  which  Herder  and  his  wife 
sent  to  the  press  in  1775  ;    for  some  reason  it  was  withdrawn  from 
publication.  „ 

3  Later  editors  of   ballad-collections  have  followed  the  example 
of  Percy  and  Herder,  but  without  their  excuse. 


xliv  INTRODUCTION. 

collective  character.1  The  traditional  element  is  to  a 
certain  extent  his  test  for  a  ballad,  J2Jit  he  is  always 
reverting  to  this  note  of  nationality.2  \He  is  glad  to 
welcome  even  half  barbarous  races,  provided  always  their 
songs  have  the  stamp  of  race.  In  fact,  the  wilder  the 
song  the  better  ;  for  "  nature  made  man  free,  joyous, 
singing  :  art  and  institutions  (zunft)  make  him  self- 
contained,  distrustful,  dumb  !  "  The  aim  of  his  collection, 
as  the  second  title  shows,  is  to  give  a  sort  of  human 
symphony  made  up  by  voices  of  the  nations  ;  for  poetry, 
he  declares,  "  is  +h*  flfnfTT"  ^*  t*"»  idiosyncrasy  of  a 
race,  of  its  speech,  land,  affairs,  prejudices,  passions, 
presumptions,  music,  soul." 

Herder  saw  clearly  the  virtues  of  natural  and  spontane- 
ous verse ;  but  he  failed  to  see  what  Grundtvig  has  since 
put  so  strongly,  —  that  the  making  of  the  ballad,  of  poetry 
of  the  people  in  general,  is  a  closed  account.  He  thought 
to  revive  such  poetry  in  his  own  land,  ignorant  that 
while  Germany  might  again  array  herself  as  a  folk  in 
arms,  she  could  never  again  present  the  spectacle  of  a 
folk  in  verse.  What  he  did  bring  about,  besides  a  new 
taste  for  ballads  and  the  poetry  of  genius,  was  a  revival 
—  largely  through  his  influence  upon  Goethe  —  of  the 
national  lyric.  Indeed,  if  one  will  but  consider  Herder's 
generous  enthusiasm,  his  sweeping  claims,  his  ardor 
for  nature,  genius,  inspiration,  and  all  the  other  war- 
cries  of  the  new  school  in  criticism,  one  readily  gees 
that  his  volkslicd  is  anything  but  conterminous  with  our 
balhul.  He  is  preaching  the  gospel  of  universal  poetry. 


1  Herder's  translations  are  superlatively  good.     His  remarks  about 
the  task   (Works,  XXV,   333  f.)  may  be  called  the  very  gospel  of 
translation.     Oddly  enough,   J.  Grimm,  Herder's  greatest  scholar, 
denies    (Klein.   Schr.,    IV,   399,  423)  altogether   the   possibility  of 
adequate  translations  of  this  sort. 

2  See  two  essays,  Works,  XXV,  65  ff.,  81  ff. 


INTRODUCTION.  xlv 

Much  the  same  is  to  be  said  of  Goethe's/  influence 
upon  the  study  of  ballads.  Spurred  "oTT^oy  Herder  at 
Strassburg,  he  collected  a  few  Alsatian  songs,  and  pres- 
ently began  to  show  their  influence  upon  his  own  lyric. 
On  various  occasions,  mainly  in  later  life,  he  made 
critical  comments  on  ballads  as  a  class,  or  on  poetry  of 
the  people  as  Herder  meant  the  phrase.1  In  1823  he 
remarks  on  the  fashion  in  which  people  "  use  this  word 
volkslieder  so  much,  and  do  not  know  just  what  is  meant 
by  it."  Such  poems  should  really  be  made,  if  not  among 
savages,  "  at  least  among  uncultivated  masses.  .  .  ." 
Surely,  we  shall  now  have  a  definition  ?  All  he  does, 
however,  is  to  change  volkslieder  into  lieder  des  volks, 
and  so  emphasize  the  note  of  nationality.  One  famous 
saying  of  his  may,  nevertheless,  be  quoted  as  evidence 
that  he  did  not  favor  the  nebular  hypothesis  for  the 
making  of  ballads.  He  is  speaking  of  some  Lithu- 
anian ballads,  which  must  be  regarded,  he  says,  as 
coming  directly  from  the  people,  who  stand  much  nearer 
to  nature,  and  thus  to  poetry,  than  the  educated  world, 
—  surely  the  voice  is  the  voice  of  Herder  ;  but  presently 
he  adds  his  own  clear-cut  dictum  :  "  When  I  think  of  it 
in  quiet,  it  seems  wonderful  enough  that  people  make  so 
much  of  folksongs  and  rate  them  so  high.  There  is  only 
one  poetry,  the  real  and  the  true  ;  all  else  is  approxima- 
tion and  show.  Poetic  talent  is  given  to  the  peasant 
as  well  as  to  the  knight ;  it  depends  whether  each  one 
lays  hold  upon  his  own  condition  and  treats  it  as  it 
deserves,  in  which  case  the  simplest  relations  will  be  the 
most  advantageous." 

In    many   respects,    a    good    pendant    to    Goethe    is 

1  Thus  to  Eckermann  (3  May,  1827)  :  It  was  not  the  authors  of 
Greek  tragedies  that  really  composed  them,  but,  rather,  "  the  time 
and  the  nation."  And  he  goes  on  to  speak  in  the  same  way  of 
Burns, 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Wordsworth.  Both  of  them  recognized  the  claims  of 
natural  poetry ;  both  essayed  to  catch  its  secret ;  and 
both  fell  into  a  profoundly  classical  habit,  as  witness,  in 
Wordsworth's  case,  the  Laodamia  and  certain  parts 
of  the  Excursion,  —  noble  utterance,  but  through  and 
through  poetry  of  the  schools.  Like  Goethe,  Wordsworth 
turned  to  ballads  mainly  to  teach  himself  and  to  help  his 
own  work  as  an  artist  in  verse.  Like  Goethe,  he  echoes 
Herder's  doctrine  of  spontaneity.  All  good  poetry,  he 
'  tells  us,1  is  "  the  spontaneous  overflow  of  powerful  feel- 
ings "  ;  but  presently  comes  the  definition  of  poetry  as 
•'  "the  breath  and  finer  spirit  of  all  knowledge,"  .  .  . 
**  the  impassioned  expression  which  is  in  the  countenance 
of  all  science,"  —  and  we  are  with  the  schools  again. 

Wordsworth  can  do  for  our  purpose  no  more  than 
Goethe  did  ;  and  it  is  hardly  otherwise  with  a  German 
poet  of  whom  Wordsworth  speaks  in  terms  of  respect 
and  admiration,  the  unfortunate  piirgerA  Burger,  however, 
at  least  continued  Herder's  work  in  getting  a  public  for 
the  ballad,  and  was  single-hearted  in  his  devotion  to  poetry 
of  the  people  ;  he  hit  its  tone  better  in  his  own  verse,  and 
gave  a  better  critical  account  of  it,  than  did  his  happier 
brothers  of  the  laurel.  "  Lenore  "  had  more  vogue  than 
any  one  ballad  of  Goethe's,  and  its  author  made  the  su- 
preme effort  among  all  modern  poets  to  catch  the  delight 
and  the  secret  of  a  lapsing  form.  Moreover,  in  certain 
essays  and  prefaces  on  the  nature  of  poetry,  whereby  he 
came  into  sharp  conflict  with  Schiller,  he  laid  down  his 
confession  of  faith.  Poetry^jie  contended,  belongs  not  to 
learning,  but  to  the  people.  He  did  not  care  so  much  for 
ELercler's  notion  of  nationality,  of  a  folk  in  verse,  as  he  did 
for  the  idea  of  tradition  and  unlettered  poetry.  What  he 
calls  "  the  epos  of  nature  "  must  be  the  standard  for  every 

1  Preface  to  the  Lyrical  Ballads. 


INTRODUCTION.  xlvii 

poet ;  and  whoever  has  mastered  this  secret  can  gain 
all  hearts,  high  or  low.  Where,  one  asks,  is  this  "epos 
of  nature "  to  be  found  ?  In  our  old  songs  of  the 
people,  answers  Burger  ;  often,  we  are  told  in  a  pretty 
passage,  often  he  has  listened  at  twilight  under  the  village 
lindens,  or  by  the  spinning-wheel,  to  ballads  and  wayside 
songs  ;  and  that  is  the  best  school  for  any  poet,  lyric  or 
epic.  All  poetry  —  and  this  is  the  claim  he  makes  so 
boldly  —  even  the  higher  lyric,  must  be  tried  by  the 
popular  standard.  The  sole  muse  of  poetry,  ran  his 
perilous  creed,  is  the  muse  of  the  traditional  ballad.  Now 
this  sweeping  assertion  not  only  went  far  beyond  anything 
Herder  had  said,  but  involved  Burger  in  contradictions. 
Herder,  indeed,  after  his  vigorous  campaign  for  poetry 
of  the  people,  had  turned  from  the  matter,  much  as 
Goethe  did,  with  an  audible  majora  canamus ;  there  is  a 
time,  he  said,1  to  talk  about  songs  of  the  people,  and  a 
time  to  talk  of  them  no  more  ;  for  him  that  latter  hour 
had  struck,  —  and  so  to  fresh  pastures.  He  tosses  the 
whole  task  of  collecting,  defending  and  defining  these 
songs,  with  a  sort  of  scornful  good-will,  to  the  Romantic 
School.  But  Burger  has  no  such  divided  allegiance  ;  for 
him  there  are  no  majora  ;  and  the  song  of  the  people  is 
all  in  all.  In  the  preface  to  his  collected  poems,2  he 
affirms  this  article  of  faith,  "  in  which  I  firmly  believe, 
the  axis  on  which  turns  my  whole  theory  of  poetry  :  all 
representative  and  plastic  art  (bUdneret)  can  be  and  must 
be  of  the  people,  for  that  is  the  seal  of  its  perfection." 

Of  course,  Burger's  crux  is  his  definition  of  folk  or 
people.  Having  asserted  a  principle  valid  for  any  epoch, 
he  must  define  "  folk  "  in  terms  of  the  present  time.  He 

1  Works,  XXV,  545.     Herder  did  not  wish  to  substitute  the  actual 
folksong  for  poetry  of  higher  art  :    he  admits  that  would  be  sheer 
folly.      Works,  XXV,  308. 

2  It  is  1778,  the  year  of  Herder's  first  part  of  the  Volkslieder. 


xlviii  INTRODUCTION. 

cannot  appeal  to  the  fact  of  a  once  homogeneous  race  or 
community,  and  to  the  expression  of  that  race  and  time 
in  genuine  songs  of  the  people  ;  he  has  to  fight  a 
desperate  battle  pro  domo  as  well  as  for  his  favorites  of 
the  past.  All  he  can  do  is  to  "hit  the  average,"  to  take 
as  standard  the  general  taste  of  the  better  classes  in  any 
given  country,  and  to  bid  the  poet  write  for  this  level 
just  as  shoemakers  make  a  shoe  for  general  sale,— on 
the  average  measure.  But  in  what  confusion,  in  what 
contradictions,  such  a  theory  must  involve  us  !  Poetry 
of  the  people  is  thus  inextricably  tangled  with  poetry  for 
the  people  ;  and  we  flounder  hopelessly  in  this  bog  which 
has  caught  so  many  students  of  the  ballad.1 

To  put  the  matter  briefly,  the  criticism  which  we  have 
so  far  examined  was  no  real  criticism  at  all.  Oracle, 
eloquence,  theory,  rhetoric  have  been  with  us ;  but 
nothing  of  the  careful  and  sundering  criticism  which 
we  need.  Discussions  about  what  poetry  ought  to  be, 
and  ought  to  have  been,  are  interesting  ;  but  in  our  day 
they  are  yielding  —  as  witness  Scherer's  fragmentary, 
flippant,  unequal,  but  revolutionary  and  always  stimu- 
lating "  Poetik  "  —  to  the  question  of  what  poetry  was, 
and  where  it  began.  Nobody  dreams  of  rapid  solution, 
perhaps  even  of  ultimate  solution  ;  but  to  come  as  close 
to  the  matter  as  we  can  is  the  task  of  modern  poetics. 
We  turn,  therefore,  to  the  founder  of  Germanic  philology, 
confident  that  we  shall  get  something  better  than  decla- 
mation, something  more  stable  than  even  the  righteous 
eloquence  of  Herder. 

1  This  confusion  is  sharply  criticised  by  Hoffmann  von  Fallersleben 
in  his  book  Unsere  volksthiimlichen.  Lieder,  3d  ed.,  Leipzig,  1869. 
He  gives  some  amusing  specimens  of  the  made  ballad,  "songs  of 
labor  "  and  what  not. 


INTRODUCTION.  xlix 


VI. 

* 

In  these  days  of  the  philological  agnostic,  it  must  seem 
a  bit  of  folly  to  set  up  Jacob  Grimm,  the  thrice  battered, 
as  a  god  in  poetical  criticism.  Three  distinct  theories 
which  he  held  have  been  sharply,  and  in  a  measure  suc- 
cessfully, attacked,  —  the  theory  of  a  native  and  original 
Germanic  beast:epos  ;  the  theory  that  our  popular  tales 
had  their  source  in  ancient  Germanic  and  Aryan  myth,  • 
and  the  theory  that  poetry  of  the  people  "  makes  itself.''/ 
Of  mese,  nobody  holds  any  longer  to  the  first.  The 
second  is  badly  damaged,  as  any  one  must  admit  who 
reads  the  clear  arraignment  of  it  by  Cosquin.1  The  third 
is  our  present  subject  for  consideration,  and  we  must 
begin  by  giving  an  account  of  it  in  Grimm's  own 
words. 

Herder,2  we  remember,  had  spoken  in  a  general  way 
about  Homer  as  a  "singer  of  the  people,"  as  the  poet  of 
a  time  when  heroic  traditions  "of  themselves  took  on 
poetic  form."  Out  of  this  phrase,  Jacob  and  Wilhelm 
Grimm  made  a  definite  critical  proposition,  and  laid 
down  a  doctrine  of  ballad  origins.  fjThey  maintained 
that  poetry  of  the  people  "  sings  itself,"  has  no  indi- 

1  Contes  Populaires  de  Lorraine,  with  un  essai  sur  Forigine  et  la 
propagation  des  contes  populaires  europeens,  2  vols.,  Paris,  1886.    On 
p.  xii  is  given  the  solution  of  the  problem,  as  against  the  "  vague 
vaporeux  et  poetique "  of  the  Grimms,  or   the   fatuity  of  a   later 
writer,  Hahn.      Importation   from    the    East,  or  elsewhere,  doubt- 
less  explains  most  of   the  tales ;    but   there  is  some  sense    in  the 
objection,  by  anticipation,  of  Steinthal  (on  Mythos,  Sage,  Marchen 
u.s.w.,  in  his  Zeitschrift,  XVII,   U3ff.),  that  it  is  going  too  far 
when  one  assumes,  "  because  Europe  imported  so  much,  she  must 
have  been  herself  sterile  and  unproductive"  *  123). 

2  Lack  of  space  compels  us  to  leave  out  of  account  minor,  but 
deserving  critics  of  the  ballad  like  Gorres  and  Arnim,  as  well  as  details 
about  other  ballad-collectors,  the  Wunderhorn,  and  all  the  rest. 


1  INTRODUCTION. 

vidual  poet  behind  it,  and  is  a  product  of  the  whole 
folk.  •  This  was  a  harcl  saying  even  to  some  men  oi~lhe 

Romantic  School  ;  and  phrases  were  bandied  about  in 
regard  to  such  a  "spontaneous  generation"  of  the  ballad. 
To  others  it  seemed  as  natural  an  assumption  that  a 
whole  nation  could  create  songs,  could  sing  itself  into 
verse,  as  that  a  whole  nation  could  govern  itself.  But 
we  must  hear  Grimm's  own  words.  In  one  of  his  earliest 
papers,1  Q>e  insists  that  it  is  useless  to  seek  after  the 
author  of  the  Nibelungen  Lay,  "  as,  indeed,  must  be  the 

*  case  with  all  national  poems,  because  they  belong  to 
.  the  folk  as  a  whole,  and  thus  everything  subjective  is 
kept  in  the  background."  Again,  in  the  same  year,2  "  it 
is  inconsistent,"  he  says,  "to  think  of  composing  an 
epos,  for  every  epos  must  compose  itself,  must  make 
itself,  and  can  be  written  by  no  poet.")  In  another  arti- 
cle, somewhat  later,  he  notes  the  great  interest  felt  for 
songs  of  the  people,  sunders  epic  from  dramatic  compo- 
sition,—  the  former  as  poetry  of  nature,  the  latter  as 
poetry  of  art,  —  asserts  the  identity  of  oldest  history  and 
oldest  poetry  as  the  true  expression  of  the  nation  which 

»  so  records  itself,  and  declares  that  "  in  epic  poetry,  deeds 
give  forth,  as-  it  were,  a  sound  of  themselves,  which 
must  make  its  way  throughout  all  the  race."Q  When 
formal  history  begins,  when  learning  and  culture,  arrive, 
poetry  takes  flight  to  the  unlettered  people,  and  there 
lives  on,  narrowed  in  scope,  and  influenced  here  and 
there  by  culture,  but  still  a  pure  ancestral  song,  the 
inherited  poetry  of  the  race.  Here,  of  course,  belongs 
the  ballad  ;  for  the  ballad  is  an  epos  in  little.  Five  years 
later,8  we  have  the  same  note  in  Grimm's  "Thoughts 
on  Myth,  Epos  and  History."  •  In  the  epos,  he  contends, 

1  1807.     See  his  Kleinere  Schriften,  IV,  4. 

2  Ibid.,  IV,  10,  note. 

3  Ibid.,  IV,  74. 


INTRODUCTION.  li 

there  is  no  poetizing,  but  poetry  pure  and  simple  ;  and 
then,  wishing  to  make  himself  clearer,  he  adds  the 
phrase  "  objective  inspiration.'^ 

This  was  the  young  man  ;  but  what  have  his  maturer 
years  to  say  about  the  problem  ?  In  1845,  writing  about 
the  great  Finnish  epos,  and  in  1859  in  his  beautiful 
Discourse  on  Schiller,2  he  reverts  to  this  theme  of  early 
poetry  in  more  cautious  and  measured  terms,  we  must 
admit,  but  substantially  in  the  old  spirit,  u'  Epic  poetry," 
he  declares  in  the  former  essay,  "  can  no  more  be  made 
than  history  can  be  made."  It  is  the  "folk"  which  pours 
its  own  flood  of  poetry  over  far-off  events,  and  so  brings 
about  the  epos.1  In  the  Discourse  on  Schiller3  one  hears 
much  the  same  ;  events  sing  themselves  in  current  of 
resistless  poetry,  "  behind  which  the  poet  utterly  disap- 
pears." More  significant  yet  is  a  passage  in  the  Discourse 
on  Lachmann,  where  Grimm  clings  as  firmly  as  ever  to 
his  theory  of  poetry  of  the  people  and  by  the  people, 
but  allows  a  certain  flexibility  and  range  of  interpretation 
in  regard  to  the  manner  of  this  gregarious  authorship. 
J^Epic  poetry,"  he  says,4  "is  not  produced  by  particular 
and  recognized  poets,  but  rather  springs  up  and  spreads 
a  long  time  among  the  people  themselves,  in  the  mouth 
of  the  people,  - —  however  one  may  choose  to  understand  this 
in  a  nearer  application^^  1 

Here,  of  course,  is  "the  weak  joint  of  the  armor,  the 
fragile  link  in  the  chain  of  argument,  f  Transmission 
from  the  communal  mind,  from  the  vague  spirit  of  poetry 
felt  by  a  homogeneous  mass  of  men,  into  definite  words 

1  "  Keine  Erdichtung, sondern  wahrhafte  Bichtung." —  "Objective 
Begeisterung." 

2  Kl.  Schr.,  II,  75  ff.  and  I,  374  ff. 

3  See  p.  380. 

4  Kleinere  Schriften,  I,  155. 

-     6  «  \vie  man  das  nun  naher  fasse." 


Hi  INTRODUCTION. 

and  a  concrete  body  of  song,  yet  without  any  mediation 
of  the  artist  or  maker  :  this  was  doubtless  as  difficult  in" 
Grimm's  eyes,  as  it  seems  impossible  in  our  owliN  He 
hardly  tried  to  solve  the  problem.  Poetry  for  him  lay 
close  to  religion, —  it  was  religion  ;  and  in  his  simple  rev- 
erence for  the  secret  of  creation  and  all  human  life,  he 
was  content  to  leave  the  matter  as  belonging,  if  not  to  the 
sphere  of  miracle,  at  least  to  the  sphere  of  mystery.  A 
passage  from  his  earliest  complete  book1  throws  some 
light  on  this  attitude.  Heroic  legend,  he  is  remarking,  is 
natural  poetry  ;  the  joy  and  sense  of  ownership  felt  by 
a  race  towards  its  great  men  and  kings  must  have  "  sung 
itself  "  ;  and  yet,  just  how  this  was  done,  he  admits,  lies 
beneath  the  veil.  "  One  must  hare  faith."  Faith  is  the 
last  weapon  with  which  modern  criticism  is  wont  to  arm 
itself  ;  but  even  the  shrewdest  investigators  are  forced  to 
put  up  with  a  deal  of  mystery,  and  mystery  is  what  Grimm 
assumed  for  the  process  in  question.2  Take  the  origin  of 
language,  a  problem  always  with  us.  How  does  a  race 
make  its  language  ?  In  mass,  or  by  deputy  ?  Precisely 
such  a  problem  for  Grimm,  in  whom  the  lover  of  words 
always  kept  close  to  the  lover  of  songs,  was  the  communal 
authorship  of  poetry  ;  he  believed  in  it,  but  could  not 
demonstrate  every  step  of  the  process.  He  insisted 3 

1  Ueber    den    altdeutscken    Meistergesang,     1811.      See    especially 
p.  5ff. 

2  Save  the  mark,  one  is  fain  to  cry,  after  a  course  of  erudition 
from  the  popgun  battalion  who  have  been  bickering  about  Grimm's 
heels  and  firing  so  valiantly  at  his  boots, — save  the  mark  !     Shall 
we  be  talking  forever  of  the  primitive  savage,  his  blank  amazement 
if  he  could  see  his  descendants  and  the  work  of  their  hands,  his 
utter  inability  to  comprehend  our  ways,  and  shall  we  allow  the  fellow 
no  poor  little  trick  of  deed  or  word  which  is  not  all  clear  and 
explicable  in  our  eyes  ? 

3  Ursprung  der  Sprache,  in  Kl.  Schr.,  I,  297.     See  also  the  preface 
to  Deutsche  Sagen,  p.  ix  f. 


INTRODUCTION.  liii 

that  problems  in  one  field  are  pretty  sure  to  be  problems 
in  the  other.  "  In  the  whole  range  of  poetry,  nothing 
stands,  in  regard  to  its  parts  and  its  development,  so  near 
to  language  and  so  analogous  to  it,  as  the  epos."  In  his 
admirable  essay  on  the  Poetry  of  Law  we  meet  the  same 
doctrine  with  a  new  comparison.  "  This  song  belongs  to 
no  poet  ;  he  who  sang  it,  simply  knew  best  how  to  sing 
it.  Even  so  the  law  is  not  made  by  the  judge,  who  dares 
not  originate  it.  The  singer  controls  his  store  of  song ; 
the  judge  puts  forth  his  law." l 

We  have  now  heard  enough  from  Jacob  Grimm  to 
understand  what  he  thought  of  ballads,  and  what  he  had 
most  in  mind  when  he  penned  his  pretty  definition  of 
poetry  in  general  as  "  life  itself,  taken  in  its  purity  and 
held  in  the  magic  of  speech Ji2  Nor  need  we  delay  over 
the  utterances  of  the  more  cautious  Wilhelm,  who  was 
really  the  first  to  apply  his  brother's  doctrine  of  epos  and 
legend  directly  to  actual  ballad.8  We  are  ready  for  a 
voice  from  the  opposition.  The  Grimms  had  published 
a  periodical,4  in  which  they  printed,  along  with  other  con- 
tributions, their  own  researches  in  Germanic  philology. 
The  first  of  these  volumes  was  reviewed 5  by  A.  W.  Schlegel ; 

1  Grimm  was  not  content  with  surmises  about  the  past,  but  welcomed 
modern  instances  and  declared  them  to  be  supporters  of  his  theory. 
See  A7.  Schr.,  II,  76  f.  ;  also  IV,  200,  where  he  reviews  a  collection 
of  modern  Servian  Ballads.     No  one  claims  the  making  of  these,  he 
says  ;  there  are  reciters  and  singers,  but  no  authors. 

2  Meistergesang,  p.   5. 

8  Entstchiing  der  altdeutschen  Poesie,  1808,  Kl.  Schr.,  I,  92  ff.  See 
also  his  Altddnische  Heldenlieder,  p.  541  ff.  It  must  be  added  that 
Wilhelm  is  more  cautious  than  Jacob  in  his  application  of  the  famous 
phrase,  as  may  be  seen  in  another  part  of  his  essay.  In  his  Helden- 
sage  (2nd  ed.,  p.  345  ff.)  he  gives  another  description  of  primitive 
poetry,  which  is  marked  by  little  of  Jacob's  boldness. 

4  Altdeutsche  Wcilder,  3  vols.,  1813-1817. 

5  Heidelberger  Jahrlnlcher,  1815.     A  good  resume  by  Scherer  in  his 
Jacob  Grimm,  2nd  ed.,  p.  141  ff. 


liv  INTRODUCTION. 

and  some  of  his  severest  censure  fell  upon  Jacob  Grimm's 
theory  of  primitive  song.  lA.  poem,  affirmedjhe  brilliant 
critic,  implies  always  a  poet^  a  work  of  art,  as  every  poem 
\"must  be,  whether  good  or  bad,  implies  an  artist ;  and  for 
v  poems  of  any  reach  or  grace,  we  must  assume  an  artist  of 
v,  the  highest  class.  Legend  and  epos  and  song  might  well 
belong  to  the  people  as  their  property ;  but  the  making 
of  this  verse  was  never  a  communal  process.  A  stately 
1  tower,  argued  Schlegel,  or  any  building  of  beauty,  means, 
it  is  true,  that  a  host  of  workmen  have  carried  stones  from 
the  quarry  and  reared  the  walls  ;  but  behind  them  is  the 
shaping  thought  of  the  architect^  All  poetry  rests  upon 
a  union  of  nature  and  art ;  even  the  earliest  poetry  has  a 
purpose  and  a  plan,  and  therefore  belongs  to  an  artist. 
Nor  was  it  all  a  world  of  truth  and  beauty,  mirrored,  as 
Grimm  had  fabled,  in  the  clear  waters  of  song ;  there 
stood  the  minstrel,  ready  for  hire  and  salary  to  sing  his 
master's  deeds,  to  tickle  his  vanity,  and,  like  a  picture- 
dealer  of  our  day,  to  furnish  a  whole  row  of  valiant  and 
deified  ancestors.  Thus,  and  with  more  of  the  same 
caustic  argument,  the  self-made  song  is  waved  away.1  J 

Grimm  and  Schlegel,  the  pioneer  and  the  critic,  spoke 
each  after  his  kind  and  from  frankly  opposite  points  of 
view.  Whether  we  approve  or  blame  either  one  of  them, 
we  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  an  indistinct  utterance. 

1  There  is  no  doubt  that  Lachmann  shared  in  a  way  this  opinion 
about  the  nebulous  and  distant  character  of  Grimm's  teaching.  In 
1816  he  quotes  Schlegel's  criticism  with  approval  (see  Lachmann, 
Kl.  Schr.,  I,  2,  65).  In  his  review  of  von  der  Hagen's  Nibehtngen 
(1820)  he  is  more  favorable  to  Grimm:  the  "poet"  of  the  lay,  he 
says  is  "the  People."  His  most  explicit  statement  on  this  subject, 
however,  so  far  as  the  present  writer  can  speak,  is  in  his  paper  on  the 
Hildebrand-Lay,  Kl.  Schr.,  I,  407  ff.,  where  he  insists  that  invention 
and  presentation  of  a  folk-song  are  always  separate  processes,  and 
further  assumes  (p.  443)  that  the  folk-singer  stands  to  his  material 
of  legend  as  a  poet  to  the  language  in  which  he  writes. 


INTRODUCTION.  lv 

It  is  quite  another  matter  with  Uhland,  a  gentle  soul, 
whose  treatise  on  poetry  of  the  people,1  left  incomplete, 
and  published  after  his  death,  is  perhaps  the  most  import- 
ant work  of  the  kind.  It  has  a  single  purpose,  and  employs 
all  its  writer's  store  of  investigation  to  one  end  ;  while 
Grimm's  utterances  on  the  subject  are  mainly  obiter  dicta. 
Yet  it  suffers,  so  far  as  the  matter  of  origin  is  concerned, 
from  indecision  ;  and  we  find  it  hard  to  say  whether 
Uhland's  attitude  towards  Grimm  must  be  called  guarded 
opposition  or  modified  approval. 

[Uhland  accepts,  of  course,  the  doctrine  of  a  homoge- 
neous people  as  a  condition  of  this  sort  of  poetry,  and  its 
dependence  upon  oral  tradition.  "  Growth  or  decay  of 
communal  poetry,"  he  says,2  "  always  depends  absolutely 
upon  the  part  played  in  it  by  the  race  as  a  compact 
whole.  If  the  nobler  souls  dr^.w  back,  and  turn  to 
written  literature,  communal  poetry  sinks  into  poverty 
and  the  commonplace."  Legend  and  oral  tradition  are 
opposed  inevitably  to  literature  and  the  community  of 
letters.  The  race  must  be  poetic  as  a  race,  as  a  unit. 
In  the  idea  of  popular  poetry,  he  goes  on  to  say,  and  in 
the  phrase  itself,  rests  a  demand  that  not  only  shall  the 
song  be  popular,  but  also  that  the  common  culture  and 
the  popular  mode  of  thought  shall  be  poetic.  This  is 
the  case  with  a  people  in  whom  the  whole  intellect  is 
still  under  control  of  those  mental  powers  which  make 
for  poetry, —  powers  of  imagination,  of  emotion,  —  and 
where  the  popular  intellectual  life  is  saturated  with  such 
an  influence,  and  expresses  it  in  speech,  in  proverbs, 
in  laws,  in  legends,  in  songs.  Oral  tradition,  added  to 

1  See  Abhandlung  tiber  die  detttschen  Volkslieder,  Vol.  Ill,  and 
Anmerkungen  zu  den  Volksliedern,  Vol.  IV,  of  Uhland's  collected 
works.  There  is  also  material  in  his  Sagengeschichte  d.  germ.  u. 
rom.  Volker,  VII,  3  ff . 

*Schr.,  VII,  7. 


Ivi  INTRODUCTION. 

all  this,  rounds  the  poetry  to  a  common  standard,  and 
excludes  —  at  any  rate,  in  our  sense  of  the  phrase,  —  all 
individual  poetsTj  So  far  in  general  terms  ;  but  as  for 
the  mystery,  the  actual  authorship  of  poetry  of  the 
people,  Uhland  takes  that  position  of  strategy  defined  by 
Hosea  Biglow  as  "  frontin'  south  by  north."  Although, 
he  tells  us,  |^a  creation  of  the  mind  can  never  spring 
immediately  from  a  multitude,  although  such  a  creation 
needs  the  act  and  the  capacity  of  individuals,  still, 
as  opposed  to  that  importance  which  rests  in  formal 
literature  upon  the  personality,  the  peculiarities,  or  the 
mood  of  the  poet,  in  poetry  of  the  people  there  is 
decided  preponderance  of  the  mass  over  the  individual. 
.  .  .  That  impulse,  known  to  the  individual  man,  to 
create  a  spiritual  image  of  his  life  is  active  in  whole 
races  as  such,  as  well  as  in  individuals  ;  and  it  is 
no  mere  figure  of  speech  that  a  race  can  be  a  poet.1 
Precisely  in  such  common  production  lies  the  idea  of 
poetry  of  the  people.]  True,  this  poetry  can  get  utterance 
only  through  individuals  ;  but  these  have  little  personality, 
and  are  lost  in  the  totality  of  the  race."2  There  follow 
some  excellent  remarks  upon  the  nature  of  oral  transmis- 
sion and  its  workings  upon  the  form  and  style  of  a  ballad  ; 
but  we  get  no  unequivocal  words  in  regard  to  authorship. 
We  hoped,  from  this  man  of  sanity  and  balance,  some 
stay  for  our  feet,  some  happy  compromise  between  the 
too  ideal  Grimm  and  the  too  literal  Schlegel  ;  but 
what  does  Uhland  really  teach  us  ?  Certainly  no  distinct 
notion  about  the  making  of  a  ballad.  He  rests  too  much 
in  a  phrase.  He  avoids  the  mystery  in  which  Grimm 
took  refuge  ;  but  instead,  he  flies  to  images  and  allegory. 
He  concedes  the  individual  act  in  authorship,  and  then 
denies  its  significance.  ^What,  for  example,  in  explaining 
the  origin  of  popular  song,  are  we  to  make  of  a  community 

i  "  Volker  dichten."  2  VII,  4. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ivii 

"watered  in  every  part  by  the  gushing  springs  of  poetry"? 
Where  is,  where  was  such  a  community,  how  are  we  to 
find  it  ;  and  when  we  find  it,  what  will  it  do  for  us Q  We 
pass  from  phrase  to  phrase,  all  true  and  beautiful  and 
good,  but  of  scant  help  for  the  solution  of  our  problem. 
It  is  not  only  the  German  who  thus  disappoints  us.  We 
get  this  same  sort  of  diet  from  a  man  not  unlike  Uhland, 
save  in  length  of  days,  a  man  of  taste,  of  fine  tact  in 
collecting  ballads,  and  a  poet  of  merit  in  his  own  right, 
the  Scottish  Motherwell.  fSpeaking  of  the  communal 
nature  of  ballads,  he  calls  them  a  "  that  body  of  poetry 
which  has  inwoven  itself  with  the  feelings  and  passions 
of  the  people,  and  which  shadows  forth,  as  it  were,  an 
actual  embodiment  of  their  Universal  mind,  and  of  its 
intellectual  and  moral  tendencies."  )  What  we  wish  above 
all  things  to  know,  is  the  way  in  which  this  Universal 
mind  goes  about  its  work  ;  but  neither  Uhland  nor 
Motherwell  undertakes  to  tell  us. 

What  shall  we  conclude  ?  There  is  a  simple  remedy 
for  our  trouble.  The  cooler  heads  of  the  present,  and 
for  some  decades  past,  have  been  content  with  an 
answer  that  involves  no  mystery,  needs  no  "  community 
watered  by  the  gushing  springs  of  poetry,"  and  fares 
very  tolerably  without  a  Universal  Mind.  ^Modern  criti- 
cism of  ballads  began  in  the  mists  and  shadows  of  the 
romantic  school ;  its  work  is  now  going  on  in  the  dry 
light  invoked  by  a  band  of  sleek-headed  men  who  work 
by  day,  sleep  soundly^o'  nights,  and  are  troubled  by  no 
dreams  and  mysteries.  /  They  hold,  with  Schlegel,  to  a 
very  simple  solution  or  our  problem.  [The  whole  matter 
is  one  of  oral  tradition  on  one  hand,  and  of  scribe's  or 
printer's  ink  on  the  other  ;  and  that  is  all.  "  Sirs,"  they 
tell  us,  —  in  the  language  of  one  of  their  predecessors,  — 
as  for  this  ballad,  "  he  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties 

1  Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy. 


Iviii  INTRODUCTION. 

that  are  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath  not  eat  paper,  as  it 
were  ;  he  hath  not*  drunk  ink ;  his  intellect  is  not 
replenished  .  .  ."  That,  surely,  is  no  mystery. 

Let  us  collect  a  few  signatures  to  this  simple  statement 
of  belief.  No  man  has  done  more  for  certain  phases  of 
poetry  of  the  people  than  Ferdinand  Wolf ; 1  and  he 
definitely  rejects  "the  nebulous  poet-aggregate  called 
folk."rTalvj,2  too,  has  no  love  for  Wilhelm  Grimm's  asser- 
>  tion  that  ballads  make  themselves  ;  and  she  tells  us  how 

'  J  they  are  made  in  reality.  Singers,  minstrels,  compose 
them, — blind  old  men,  as  in  Servia  ;  or,  it  may  be,  in 
some  idyllic  neighborhood,  youth  and  maiden  go  about 
their  daily  tasks  in  a  spirit  of  improvisation,  and  make 
little  ballads  while  they  herd  or  spinTj  Coming  over  to 

,  t  England,  we  have  Bishop  Percy's  theory__pL  minstrel 
authorship,  and  the  scoffs  of  that  very  irritable,  but 
startHngiy  well-informed  person,  Joseph  Ritson.  Ritson 
refers  the  origin  of  our  English  ballads  to  the  reign  of 
Queen  Elizabeth ;  and  while  we  can  find  no  mention 
of  the  mystery,  we  know  pretty  well  what  he  would  have 
thought  about  it.3  Of  no  different  opinion,  so  far  as  the 

1  Ueber  die   Lais,   Sequenzen,   etc.,   1841 — see   pp.  48,  74,    125; 
Wiener  Jahrbucher,  CXVII,  pp.  84  f.,  121  f.,  127;  Proben  portug.  u. 
Catalan.  Volksromanzen,  Sitzungsberichte  d.  Wien.  Akad.,  Phil.-Hist. 
Cl.,  XX,  17  ff.  (March  12,  1856);  and  especially  Introduction,  Rosa 
Warrens,  Schwedische  Volkslieder,  1857,  p.  xv. 

2  Mrs.  Robinson,  born  v.  Jacob.     See  her  Versuch  einer  Charak- 
teristik  d.  Volkslieder  germani scher  Nationen,  pp.  10,  338  f.,  403  ff. 

3  See  Historical  Essay  in  his  Select  Collection  of  English  Songs, 
2nd  ed.,  1813,  p.  Ixviii ;  also,  in  his  Ancient  Songs  and  Ballads,  the 
Observations  on  the  Minstrels,  where  he  contemptuously  concedes 
a  few  songs  to  the  minstrels,  but  all  "  merely  narrative  "  (ed.  Hazlitt, 
p.   xxi  f.)  ;   and    Dissertation    on   Romance   and  Minstrelsy,    in    his 
Ancient  Engleish  Metrical  Romancees.     In  this  dissertation  (original 
ed.  (1802)  I,  v  ff.),  Ritson  thinks  the  Gest  of  Robin  Hood  may  well 
have  been  "  composed  by  a  priest  in  his  closet ! " 


INTRODUCTION.  lix 

mystery  is  concerned,  was  Sir  Walter  Scott  ;  in  his  eyes, 
the  minstrel  was  quite  sufficient  to  account  for  min- 
strelsy, whether  of  the  border  or  elsewhere.  Ballads, 
he  remarks,  often  abridged  from  the  romances,  may  be 
originally  the  work  of  minstrels  "professing  the  joint 
arts  of. poetry  and  music,"  or  they  may  be  "the  occa- 
sional effusions  of  some  self-taught  bard/^f  jVIotherwell,2 
whom  we  have  already  quoted,  tells  of  a  custom  which 
favors  the  artist  in  ballad-making.  Scottish  singers  by 
profession,  he  says,  preface,  supplement,  or  interlard 
their  ballads  with  prose,  supplying  omissions,  or  telling 
what  became  of  the  characters.  Some  pieces  mix  poetry 
and  prose,  like  a  Scandinavian  saga  ;  and  it  is  interesting 
to  note  that  Scherer  deems  this  to  have  been  the  primi- 
tive form  of  all  epic.3__jCrossing  the  channel  again,  and 
coming  nearer  to  our  own  time,  we  find  so  great  an 
authority  as(^ullenhpff,  while  agreeing  with  Grundtvig 
about  the  necessary  concTitions  of  popular  poetry,  taking 
definite  stand  —  if—bis  words  are  read  aright  —  for  indi- 
vidual authorship.4_jMullenhoff's  illustrious  scholar  and 
colleague,  Scherer,  devotes  pages  of  his  brilliant  sketch 
of  Jacob  Grimm,  and  yet  more  of  his  Poetik,  to  the 
support  of  Schlegel  and  the  theory  of  artistry  as  the 
prime  factor  in  early  song  as  well  as  in  early  speech. 
Again,  Professor  Paul,  who  is  no  lover  of  Scherer's  theo- 
ries, is  one  with  him  in  the  rejection  of  this  famous 
mystery  ;  in  times  of  oral  tradition,  explains  Paul,  poets 
composed  a  ballad,  or  what  not,  and  sang  it  about  the 

1  Minstrelsy    (1802),    II,    102 ;    I,  c.  —  lie    notes    (I,  xcii)    the 
account  of  Irish  bards  given   by  Spenser,  and  thinks  an  analogy 
could  be  found  in  "  our  ancient  border  poets." 

2  Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  I,  19. 
8  Poetik,  14  f. 

4  Introduction  to  the  Sagen,  Liedcr  u.  s.  w.,  pp.  xxvi  and  xxviii. 


Ix  INTRODUCTION. 

land  for  bread.1  Nyrop  tells  us2  that  by  1883  all  Scandi- 
navian—  or  Danish?8 — scholars  had  totally  given  up  the 
theory  that  such  poetry  is  the  work  of  a  whole  people. 
He  is  very  emphatic  for  the  artist  in  all  ballads.  "Origi- 
nally there  existed  no  popular  singer  who  did  not  make 
some  pretensions  as  poet,"4  —  and  this  even  before  the 
real  epos  had  been  developed.  The  Danish  trumpet,  we 
note,  gives  no  uncertain  sound  ;  and,  indeed,  the  energetic 
writer  might  have  calmed  his  fears  for  Germany  by  reading 
quite  as  rational  and  quite  as  decided  a  view  of  the  matter 
in  the  pages  of  Bohme.5  pit  is  not  true,"  says  Bohme, 
"  that  a  whole  people  ever  made  songs  ";  and  he  goes  on 
to  give  us,  not  a  theory,  but  an  actual  example  of  the  way 
in  which  poetry  of  the  people  was  really  made.  He  pro- 
duces from  the  Limburg  Chronicle  a  certain  leprous  monk 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  who  lived  by  the  Rhine  and 
made  the  best  songs  and  dance-tunes  in  the  world  ;  what 
he  sang,  runs  the  record,  all  the  people  loved  to  sing  and 
whistle,  and  gleemen  took  up  his  songs  and  tunes,  scatter- 
ing them  about  the  land.  "  There,"  says  Bohme,  "  we 
have  the  secret  about  the  origins  of  popular  poetry ;  the 
oft  admired  and  nebulous  composition  by  a  poetic  multi- 
tude is  mistake  and  nonsense.  First  of  all,  one  man 

1  Paul,   Grundriss  d.  germanischen  Philologie,  I,  231  ;   see,  also, 

I,  73- 

2  Den  oldfranske  Heltedigtning,  p.  35,  note.     He  is  declaring  that 
a  single  poet  must  have  composed  an   epos  like  the  Chanson  de 
Roland.     See,  also,  p.  287  f.,  where  he  insists  on  an  author  for  the 
ballad,  but  allows  that  oral  tradition,  singing,  destroys  the  trace  of 
individuality. 

8  He  says  :  "  Den,  hos  os  i  det  mindste  f  uldstendig  opgivne,  tagede 
Teori "...  He  fears  that  in  Germany  they  are  coming  back  to  the 
heresy.  As  strong  condemnation,  too,  is  in  the  little  book  of  P. 
Friis  :  Udsigt  over  de  danske  A'lempeviser,  etc.,  Copenhagen, 
p.  7. 

4  Work  quoted,  p.  291. 

5  Altdeutsches  Liederbuch,  p.  xxii. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixi 

sings  a  song,  and  then  others  sing  it  after  him,  changing 
what  they  do  not  like."  That  is  alh^/tt  cannot  be  denied 
that  this  view  of  the  matter  agrees  admirably  with  our 
modern  habit  of  thought,  and  Bohme  finds  approval,  im- 
plied or  expressed,  from  many  a  minor  critic  of  the  ballad, 
—  for  example,  to  enlarge  our  borders,  from  a  Dutch 
writer,  who  explicitly  commends  such  a  position.2  Im- 
plied approval,  distinct  enough  on  the  main  question, 
comes  also  from  the  scholars  who  just  now  have  been 
handling  these  matters  in  Paul's  Germanic  Philology. 
Professor  Brandl 3  recognizes  oral  tradition  as  the  only 
available  test  of  the  English  ballad,  so  far  as  matter  is 
concerned,  and  insists  further  upon  a  set  metrical  form. 
Lundell,  speaking  for  Scandinavia,4  thinks  that  theories 
about  the  origin  and  development  of  ballads  are  still  one 
and  all  hypothetical  ;  but  he  has  no  love  for  the  mystery. 
Meier,5  for  the  Germans,  defines  a  song  of  the  people  as 
one  where  "  the  author  or  authors  "  harve  no  intention 
of  a  literary  character,  no  design  upon  the  world  of 
letters,6  —  a  view  amiable  but  vague. 
/*"~So  runs  the  uniform  comment  of  these  certainly  able 
/  critics ;  and  what  they  assert  really  amounts  to  an  identi- 

v -^ 

1  Unfortunately  for  his  cause,  Bohme  does  not  stop  here,  but  goes 
on  to  define  the  difference  between  poetry  of  the  people  and  that  of 
the  schools,  whereby  he  brings  under  the  second  class  precisely  those 
songs  of  the  leprous  monk  which  he  has  just  set  up  as  models  of  the 
first  class.     Why,  he  asks,  in  contradiction  of  himself,  why  inquire 
for  the  author  of  a  folk-song  when  it  was  never  really  composed 
(verfasst)  at  all  ?    "  It  is  a  masterless  and  nameless  affair  "  —  and  he 
falls  to  quoting  .  .  .  Jacob  Grimm  !     See  p.  xxiii  ff. 

2  G.  Kalff,  Het  Lied  in  de  Middeleeuwen,  Leiden,  1884,  p.  38. 

3  Grundriss  d.  german.  Philol,,  II,  i,  839  f. 
*  Ibid.,  II,  i,  724f. 

.  5  Ibid.,  II,  i,  741. 

6  We  might  go  on  with  examples  :  R.  M.  Meyer  in  Haupt's  Zts., 
XXIX,  121  f. ;  Burdach  in  same  journal,  XXVII,  344,  and  so  on  ; 
but  all  would  be  to  one  purpose. 


kii  INTRODUCTION. 

fication  of  the  origins  of  the  ballad  with  the  origins  of 
poetry  as  a  thing  of  literature,  barring  the  facts  of 
environment  at  the  outset  and  oral  tradition  in  reaching 
a  later  public.  In  both  cases  the  artist  is  a  final  cause. 
Yet  all  able  critics  of  our  day  are  not  on  this  side. 
Leaving  out  of  sight  for  the  moment  the  question  of  gre- 
garious or  communal  authorship  for  itself,  we  find  that  a 
few  of  our  best  scholars  are  unwilling  to  concede  so  much 
to  the  artist.  They  wish  to  keep  the  ballad,  not  only  in 
its  fate  and  accidents,  but  in  itsorigins  and  its  essence, 
apart  from  the  poem  of  literaturex-*They  may  not  support 
Grimm's  theory  as  laid  bare  by  criticism  ;  but  they  take 
up  ground  not  far  removed  from  it.  These  men  are  in 
the  first  instance  Grundtvig  and  ten  Brink.  Grundtvig 
we  have  already  quoted,1  and  ten  Brink  is  presently  to  be 
considered.  Professor  Child,  the  best  living  authority  on 
our  subject,  has  devoted  his  main  energies  thus  far  to  the 
editing  and  comparing  of  actual  ballads,  with  such  result 
that  it  is  impossible  to  praise  too  highly  his  great 
collection,  now  nearly  completed  ;  he  has  had  little  to 
say  on  the  subject  of  origins.2  Professor  Steenstrup, 
whose  clear  and  admirable  study  of  Danish  ballads 3 

1  See  above,  p.  xxxv.    Pp.  xxi-xxiv  of  the  Introduction  quoted  are 
surely  unequivocal  enough  ;  and  we  know  of  no  passage  in  other 
works  where  Grundtvig  has  changed  his  opinion.     His  Udsigt  over 
den  Nordiske  Oldtids  Heroiske  Digtning  (1867)  protests,  it  is  true, 
against  the  German  tendency  to  myth,  and  against  the  Scandinavian 
tendency  to  find  history  in  everything  ;  but  that  is  quite  apart  from 
our  question.     Moreover,  he  is  talking  of  the  Eddas  and  the  Sagas. 

2  In    Johnson's    Cyclopadia,    1893,   "  Ballad    Poetry,"   he   names 
absence  of  subjectivity  and  of  self-consciousness  as  prime  trait  of 
the  ballad,  and  adds  :   "  Though  they  do  not  '  write  themselves '  as 
William  Grimm  has  said,  though  a  man  and  not  a  people  has  com- 
posed them,  still  the  author  counts  for  nothing,  and  it  is  not  by 
mere  accident,  but  with  the  best  reason,  that  they  have  come  down 
to  us  anonymous." 

3  Vore  Folkeviser  fra  Middelalderen.  Copenhagen,  1891. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixiii 

is  mainly  devoted  to  the  demonstration  of  a  total  lack 
of  connection  between  these  and  the  old  Scandinavian 
poems,1  does  not  take  positive  ground  on  the  matter 
of  authorship ;  some  of  his  investigations,2  notably 
a  fine  chapter  on  the  "  I  "  in  ballads,  bear  that  way, 
and  he  is  emphatic  against  all  poetic  individuality, 
and  all  lyrical  elements  ;  but  he  nowhere  approaches 
approval  of  Grimm's  mystery.8  However,  be  the  vote 
of  these  two  eminent  scholars  for  or  against  the  artist 
in  the  ballad,  we  feel  that  the  outspoken  opposition  of 
Grundtvig,  master  in  ballads,  and  of  ten  Brink,  whose 
tact  and  judgment  in  general  literature  no  one  can  call 

1  See  especially  p.  322. 

2  See  pp.  32,  37  ff.,  204. 

3  We  are    concerned    with    Germanic    criticism,    but    allow    our- 
selves a   glance  at    two  men  of    note   in    Romance    territory  who 
seem  to  be  separated  from  the  camp  of  the  Aufkldrcr.     Nigra  in 
his   admirable    study,    La    Poesia    Popolare    Italiana,   prefixed    to 
his   Canti   Popolari   del   Piemonte,  reverts    to    the   analogy  in    the 
making  of   ballads   and    of  language.    "  Ma  la  poesia  popolare   al 
pari  della  lingua  e  itna   creuzione   spontanea  essenzialmente  etnica " 
(p.  xviii)  ;  and  again,  (p.  xxvii)  :  "  La  canzone  storica  popolare  .  .  . 
e  anonima.     Non  e  improvvisata  da  un  poeta  popolare  [Bbhme's 
leper  !  ]  piii  o  meno  noto.  ..."     For  such  songs  we  assume  "  un 
per iodo  piu  o  meno  lungo  d'inciibazione,  al  quale  succede  una  continua 
elaborazione  che  si  va  perpetuando  con  fasi  diverse,  finche  la  canzone 
cada  a  poco  a  poco  nell'  oblio,  o  sia  fissata  dalla  scrittura."     Again, 
it  would  seem   that  Gaston   Paris  is  not  with  the  majority.     Hist. 
Poetique  de  Charlemagne,  p.  2  :   early  popular  poetry  is  "  improvisee 
et  contemporaine  des  faits  "  ;    Romania,  XIII,  617  :  the  songs  are 
"  composes  non  seulement  sous  1'impression  immediate  des  faits,  mais 
par  ceux  et  pour  ceux  qui  y  avaient  pris  part  "  ;  and  in  the  same 
journal,  p.  603,  he  doubts  the  existence  of  any  professional  minstrels 
among  the  primitive  Germans,  going  on   to  say  how  "  indications 
prove  that  later,  and  even  among  Anglo-Saxons,  skill  in   composing 
and  singing  narrative  songs  was  common  with  the  majority  of  men, 
like  skill  in  fighting  or  in  settling  matters  of  law  (dire  le   droit)." 
It    was    the    warriors    of    early    time  (Hist.    Pott,    de  Charl.,  p.    n) 
"  lesquels  chantaient  eux-memes  les  chants  qu'ils  avaient  composes." 


Ixiv  INTRODUCTION. 

in  question,  gives  us  pause  when  we  are  asked  to  set 
down  the  problem  of  the  origin  of  the  ballad  as  a  matter 
definitely  adjusted  by  modern  criticism. 
/It  seems  to  us,  and  not  at  all  in  the  way  of  Uhland's 
compromise,  that  the  modern  school  make  a  very  perilous 
leap  when  they  conclude  from  the  safe  assertion  of 
nebulosity  and  lack  of  meaning  in  any  notion  of  the 
ballad  as  singing  itself,  that  therefore  the  primitive  ballad, 
which  we  do  not  see  and  never  have  seen,  was  made  as 
any  other  poem  is  made,  and  is  differenced  simply  by  oral 
transmission.  Let  us  frankly  give  up  this  phrase,  that 
the  ballad  "  makes  itself."  Let  us  go  further,  and  give 
up  for  any  ballads  in  our  control  the  assumption  that  they 
were  made  by  a  whole  race  or  community  as  such?.  But 
let  us  not  surrender  so  hastily  the  autonomy  of  the^Ballad, 
the  dualism  of  poetry  of  the  people  and  poetry  of  the 
schools  ;  let  us  maintain  opposition  between  the  throng 
and  the  artist,  between  the  chorus  and  the  lyric.  At 
least,  let  us  not  give  up  all  this  until  we  have  completed 
our  critical  task,  until  we  have  rendered  better  account 
of  the  essential  elements  of  the  ballad  as  it  must  have 
been  at  its  best. 

VII. 

IT  is  impossible  to  watch  a  ballad  in  its  making  ;  that 
merry  art  is  dead.  Even  if  one  could  uncover  the  origins 
of  any  English  ballad,  it  is  not  likely  that  one  would  see  a 
folk  in  verse  behind  it.  It  might  be  traced,  like  "Thomas 
Rymer,"  to  some  romance,  or,  like  "  St.  Stephen,"  to  a 
legend  of  the  church,  or,  like  "  King  Orfeo,"  to  a  distorted 
tale  from  the  classics.  "  Mary  Hamilton "  seems  as 
Scottish  and  as  local  as  may  be  ;  but  for  all  its  versions, 
the  source  of  it  is  probably  to  be  found  in  the  court  of 
Peter  the  Great.  "  Bewick  and  Grahame  "  is  surely  no 
loan  from  abroad  ;  but  it  belongs,  at  the  earliest,  to  the 


INTRODUCTION.  lxv 

end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  by  what  delusion  can 
we  think  of  Shakspere's  countrymen  running  together 
some  fine  day  to  chant  this  simple  story  as  a  sort  of 
off-hand  oratorio  ?  ("Apart,  too,  from  problems  of  origin 
and  transmission,  we  must  reckon  with  the  changes 
wrought  by  migration,  which  hold  good  for  the  ballad  as 
they  do  for  the  popular  tale./  True,  when  cynicism  or 
flippancy  leads  us  from  the  ballad  to  its  source  in  a 
fabliau,  as  is  the  case  with  "  The  Boy  and  the  Mantle," 
we  lay  these  faults  to  the  charge  of  minstrels,  and  make 
due  reservations  ;  but  popular  tales  of  humbler  and  more 
traditional  character  will  account  for  many  a  true  ballad,1 
and  thus  establish  its  origin  in  the  simple  desire  for 
entertainment.  Ballads  were  quick  enough  to  take  up  a 
moving  story  of  any  sort  ;  witness,  with  its  hint  of  real 
history,  the  tale  told  in  "  Sir  Aldingar,"  and  followed  by 
Grundtvig  through  so  many  chances  ;  or  witness  the 
supernatural  motive  of  "  Clerk  Colven."  *  [The  ballad, 
moreover,  jsalways  close  to  popular  legend.  An^t  likp  tftfi 
legend.JiQ.lds  peculiar  relations  with  history,  borrowing  a 

^,    .--  _**"1^ ^^— i  n^,   |  '••"  ^  ^  '     — '      T          -~"^^ 

trait,  a  fact,  a  name,  or  combining  widely  sundered  events, 
as  in  "  Mary  Hamilton."  Legend,  again,  may  combine 
with  legend,  and  ballad  with  ballad,  as  in  "  The  Baron  of 
Bracldey,"  where  we  are  at  least  tempted  to  assume  two 
Barons,  and  a  confusion  of  two  traditional  songs.  Often 
this  may  have  been  accidental,  and  often  the  minstrel's 

1  For  example,  The  Two.  Magicians.  See  Child's  remarks,  Ballads, 
I,  401  (Part  II)  ;    and   Crane,  Introduction   to  Chansons  Populaires 
de  la  France,  Ne'w  York,  1891,  p.  xxvi  f. 

2  Danmarks    Gamle  Folkeviser,    I,    177    ff.,    and    Child,    Ballads, 
I  (Part  II),   374  ff.  —  In  Melusine,  I,    i  ff.,  De  retude  de  la  pohie 
populaire  en  France,  Gaston  Paris  is  inclined  to  limit  this  factor  of 
borrowing  as  a  source  of  ballads.     Admitting  that  it  has  its  place, 
he  insists  on  the  analogy  of  poetry  and  language,  and  on  "  un  certain 
fonds  ou  patrimoine  commun  a  toute  la  race  aryenne." 


Ixvi  ,4  INTRODUCTION. 

flattery  or  cunning  must  bear  the  blame.1  ^Again,  the 
same  story  may  have  been  told  in  different  settings  or 
about  different  people  ;  a  striking  incident  in  one  ballad 
may  have  been  transferred  to  another  ballad  ;  and  finally 
the  temper  of  the  singer  and  the  character  of  his 
audience  may  so  change  with  time  as  to  alter  the  nature 
of  the  events,  the  dignity  of  the  characters,  and  even 
the  outcome  of  the  story.  In  English  ballads  one 
can  often  follow  this  degeneration,  with  its  lapse  in 
vivid  character,  and  its  effacing  or  rationalizing  of  the 
supernaturaLy  Akin,  moreover,  to  the  fates  of  trans- 
mission from  age  to  age,  are  the  chances  of  migration 
from  race  to  race.  True,  it  is  to  be  conceded  that  the 
simpler  tragic  or  dramatic  motives  need  no  theory  of 
borrowing  ;  human  fate  and  human  emotion  —  partout 
les  passions,  partout  r inexorable  destin  8  —  are  enough  to 
account  for  such  epics  of  the  countryside.  But  there 
are  other  motives  and  other  stories  which  force  us  to 
assume  either  a  common  origin,  or  a  passage  from  land 
to  land  ;  the  distribution  and  relations  of  the  ballad  are 
as  undoubted  in  the  way  of  fact  as  they  are  difficult  in 
the  way  of  explanation,  and  it  is  clear  that  they  play 
no  small  part  in  the  ballads  of  this  collection.4 

1  See  Wilhelm  Grimm's  admirable  study,  "  Ursprung  und   Fort- 
bildung,"  in  his  Heldensage,  2  p.  345  ff.     For  minstrel's  interpolation, 
and  the  character  of  Volker  in  the  Nibelungen,  see  p.  363. 

2  Not  to  fall  back  on  "  Buchan's  parrots,"  witness  the  degradation, 
especially  due   to   broadside   influence,   shown    by  comparing   two 
versions  (A  and  B)  of  "  Sir  Andrew  Barton,"  or,  fof  a  less  flagrant 
case,  the  substitution  of  a  man  for  a  bird  in  "  Johnie  Cock  "  (A,  21). 

8 Epilogue  to  Les  Bohemiens,  Merimee's  translation  from  Pushkin. 

4  For  Germanic  ballads,  Grundtvig  and  Child  have  done  noble 
work  in  this  field  of  comparison.  On  the  general  question  of 
distribution,  see  Uhland,  Schriften  zur  Gesch.  d.  Dichtung  u.  Sage, 
III,  9  f. ;  Mothervvell,  Minstrelsy,  Amer.  Ed.,  I,  50  ;  and  R.  M.  Meyer 
in  Haupt's  Zeitschr.,  XXIX,  176,  with  references  in  the  foot-note. — 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixvii 

jf\.ll  of  the  English  and  Scottish  ballads,  by  the  very 
conditions  of  their  preservation,  lie  this  side  of  the 
purely  communal  stage.  The  "  Gest "  is  an  epos  in  the 
making,  with  local  traditions  and  local  characters  ;  its 
central  figure  is  no  immortalized  hero,  but  rather  an 
idealized  type  of  the  woodland  outlaw, —  certainly  not  a 
tottering  relic  of  pagan  divinity,  whether  Woden  or 
even  Brandl's  field-and-forest  demigod.  1t//TThis  admirable 
poem  shows  no  defect  in  sharpness  of  outline,  although 
transmission  and  the  fusion  of  several  independent 
ballads  have  destroyed  identity  of  person  and  legend  ; 
like  any  good  epic,  it  bears  the  double  grace  of  a  popular 
origin  and  an  incipient  artistic  controU  Only  madness 
could  regard  such  an  altogether  charming  piece  as 
mere  gregarious  makings,  like  the  Faroe  ballad  of  the 
frustrated  fisher,  jostled  into  unity  by  the  chances  of 
time.  "  Otterburn  "  and  "  The  Hunting  of  the  Cheviot  " 
are  in  the  same  class:  traditional  verse  of  the  people  at 
its  best,  handed  down  by  shifty  singers.  So  it  is  with 
"Johnie  Cock"  and  "Johnie  Armstrong";  each  has 
overwhelmingly  popular  character,  yet  a  form  and  a 
cohesion  which  suggest  the  beginning,  however  feeble,  of 
literary  tact.  "  Kinmont  Willie "  should  be  compared 
with  the  other  two  ;  whatever  Scott's  share  in  it,  its 
literary  suggestion  is  far  more  prominent.  "  Sir  Andrew 
Barton  "  is  a  good  story,  well  told  in  parts,  but  far 
gone  into  the  way  of  broadsides.  Of  the  shorter 
ballads,  "Spens,"  "Brackley,"  "Mary  Hamilton,"  and 
others,  reveal  the  charm  of  tradition  and  that  pathos 

Nigra  points  out  (Canti  Popolari  del  Piemonte,  p.  xviii)  that  the 
materials  of  the  song  go  anywhere,  while  metre,  rime,  and  form 
in  general  are  borrowed  only  from  "popoli  omoglotti."  It  is 
evident  that  border  folk  could  transmit  ballads,  as  they  transmitted 
many  things  less  desirable. 
1  Paul's  Grutidriss,  II,  i,  844. 


Ixviii  INTRODUCTION. 

which  springs  from  the  feeling  of  a  community  and 
not  from  the  sentiment  of  a  poet  ;  while  ballads  like 
"  Bonnie  George  Campbell  "  and  "  Three  Ravens  "  show 
a  note  of  the  lyric l  slowly  detaching  itself  from  pure 
narrative,  just  as  "Lord  Randal"  and  "Edward"  lean  to 
the  dramatic.  "  Babylon,"  "  The  Twa  Sisters,"  "  Child 
Maurice,"  lead  us  back  to  a  simpler  tone  of  tragedy  ; 
"  Sweet  William's  Ghost "  and  "  The  Wife  of  Usher's 
Well  "  touch  the  supernatural  world  ;  the  tragedy  of  love 
or  family  relations,  in  the  group  which  follows,  is  as 
direct  as  possible,  yet  not  without  the  same  suggestion  of 
a  fit  reporter  ;  and  at  last  we  have  the  romantic  ballad, 
of  which  "  Young  Beichan  "  is  the  homeliest  and  "Childe 
Waters "  the  most  admirable  specimen,  (wherever  we 
turn,  we  find  in  these  ballads  something  impersonal  and 
communal  which  we  recognize  as  their  differentiating 
element ;  and  we  also  find  the  agency  of  a  singer,  a 
skilful  recording  secretary,  one  might  say,  who  stands 
between  us  and  the  community,  running  withal  the  chances 
of  oral  transmission. jQ 

Such  are  the  sober  facts  in  regard  to  the  ballads  of 
this  collection  ;  but  in  admitting  the  agency  of  reporter 

1  Steenstrup,    Vore   Folkeviser,    p.    32,    shows    that    in    primitive 
ballads  this  lyric  note  was   unknown. 

2  From  a  count,  for  which  the  editor  is  indebted  to  Mr.  B.  Cadbury, 
late  graduate  student  in  Havertord  College,  of  the  ballads  in  the  first 
seven  parts  of  Professor  Child's  collection,  it  would  seem  that  of 
225  ballads,  113  are  Scottish,  80  English,  2  from   Shetland,  and  30 
with  both  English  and  Scottish  versions  ;  that  148  are  derived  from 
popular    tradition,    46    from    historical    tradition    (actual,    though 
distorted   events),    9   from    traditional   history    (fable    accepted    as 
history),  17  from  romances  and  tales,  and  5  from  the  Bible  or  sacred 
legends.     Of  ballads  derived  from  popular  tradition,  38  belong  to 
the  Robin  Hood  cycle ;   and  of  those  from  historical  tradition,  28 
refer    to  warfare   and   raids   of   the    Scottish    border.      There   are 
77    ballads  which    have  counterparts  in   other  languages  or  show 
incidents  common  to  continental  ballads. 


INTRODUCTION.  lxi;c 

and  singer  one  does  not  necessarily  solve  the  question  of 
ultimate  origins.  One  knows,  for  example,  that  the 
literary  form  of  certain  delightful  German  stories 1  is 
chiefly  due  to  Wilhelm  Grimm  ;  but  no  one  dreams  that 
such  a  concession  has  anything  to  do  with  fixing  the 
origin  of  popular  tales.  As  little  is  done  for  ballads 
by  the  frantic  appeal  to  common  sense,2  or  by  talk  of 
"author  and  public,"  and  of  "prices"  and  "competition" 
in  the  primitive  German  literary  market.  This  is  mere 
journalism.  It  is  the  critic's  business  to  detach  from  the 
ballad,  which  is  a  compromise  between  tradition  and  art, 
all  those  elements  in  which  art  and  the  individual  can 
have  had  no  share,  and  to  inquire  whether  the  balance 
for  communal  forces  can  be  explained  on  the  simple  basis 
of  oral  transmission.  In  other  words,  to  borrow  a  phrase 
from  M.  Cosquin,  after  the  student  of  ballads  has 
determined  the  marque  de  fabrique  3  of  a  given  specimen, 
it  is  in  order  for  the  student  of  the  ballad  itself  to  attack 
the  more  general  but  no  less  interesting  problem,  and 
determine  the  marque  de  fabrique  of  the  popular  elements 
in  all  ballads. 

In  avoiding  mysteries  we  may  ignore  facts.  We  have 
no  right  to  study  the  exotic  of  a  greenhouse,  and  assume 

1  Kinder-  und  ffausmdrchen  gesammclt  durch  die  Briider  Grimm. 

2  M.  Anatole  Loquin  in  Melusine,  IV,  529  ff.,  reviewing  Tiersot's 
Chanson  Populaire  en  France,  is  very  bold.     "  Find  the  author  !  " 
he  commands.      Many  popular   songs   (  "  chants   populaires  "  ),   he 
insists,  are  by  known  authors  (p.  535).    Even  when  Tiersot  modestly 
remarks  that  these  songs  are   "  of  the  people,"  the  reviewer  cries, 
"  Ah,   qu'en   savez-vous  ?    Vous  trouveriez-vous  done  la,   qnand  ces 
chants  ont  ete  composes  ?  "  — This  is  certainly  no  argument. 

^UOriginc  des  Contes  Populaires  Europeens,  mfmoire  prhente  au 
Congres  des  Traditions  Populaires  de  1889;  mainly  a  criticism  of 
theories  held  by  Mr.  Andrew  Lang.  See  p.  6.  Luckily,  the  task  of 
determining  the  origin  of  popular  elements  in  the  ballad  is  not  the 
unstable  psychological  process  for  which  M.  Cosquin  has  such  horror 
(p.  19)  ;  it  is  largely  a  question  of  facts. 


Ixx  INTRODUCTION. 

for  it  the  same  conditions  of  growth  and  propagation  in 
a  soil  where  it  is  the  hardy  product  of  nature.  It  is  one 
thing  to  grant  the  agency  of  a  singer  in  gathering  and 
reporting  poetry  of  the  people  ;  it  is  quite  another  thing 
to  say  that  such  poetry,  as  it  shades  back  into  scraps  of 
early  traditional  verse,  and  then,  sheer  combination  and 
inference,  escapes  us  in  the  darkness  of  prehistoric  times, 
was  always  of  this  character,  was  always  something 
dependent  upon  the  artist.  It  is  one  thing  to  grant 
the  possibility  of  personal  authorship,  somewhat  in 
our  modern  sense,  for  a  ballad  like  "  Bewick  and 
Grahame"  ;  it  is  another  thing  to  say  that  the  impersonal 
character  of  the  ballad  itself,  a  pervading  quality  which 
even  the  "I"  of  the  singer  is  powerless  to  affect,  rests 
upon  the  mere  fact  of  oral  transmission.  Granted  that 
this  impersonal  character  differences  all  ballads,  what  is 
behind  it  ?  If  the  ultimate  reason  for  this  quality  lies  in 
certain  conditions  of  authorship  by  one  man,  then  the 
axe  is  laid  to  the  root  of  that  distinction,  still  so  carefully 
maintained  by  good  critics,  between  volksthiimliche  poesie 
and  volkspoesie.  If  M.  Loquin  is  right,  we  need  nothing 
more  than  a  lively  tune  and  words  that  take  popular 
fancy,  in  order  to  make  a  ballad  now  ;  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  balladry  of  the  best  kind  should  be  a  closed 
account.  But  even  modern  criticism  declares  that  it  is  a 
closed  account.  What,  then,  if  this  impersonal  element 
in  the  ballad  were  simply  the  last  active  state  of  a  distinct 
fashion  of  poetry,  once  common  enough,  but  vanishing 
under  the  triumph  of  the  schools  ?  What  if  this  impersonal 
character  of  the  later  ballad  were  due  to  the  purely 
communal  elements  of  the  primitive  ballad  ?  Unfortu- 
nately, one  cannot  make  proper  connection  between  the 
two  ;  for  in  English  and  Scottish  ballads  one  is  dealing 
not  with  a  sequence  but  with  a  survival.  We  have 
a  series  of  ballads  made  from  the  beginning  of  the 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxi 

fourteenth  century  down  to  the  beginning  of  our  own  ; 
but  the  Anglo-Saxon  ballads  are  matter  of  inference. 
That  Angles  and  Saxons  had  ballads,  says  Brandl,1  in  a 
pithy  phrase,  "  is  not  to  be  denied  if  we  consider  human 
nature,  and  not  to  be  affirmed  if  we  consider  our  present 
sources  of  information."  Certainly,  so  far  as  form  is 
concerned,  the  ballads  are  quite  opposed  to  that  poetry 
handed  down  to  us  by  the  monks  who  controlled  our 
literature  before  the  conquest  ;  though  we  find  ample 
evidence  that  poems  in  character  and  contents  analogous 
to  the  later  ballad  were  sung  in  Saxon  England.  This 
cataclysm  and  breach  in  traditions  was  not  peculiar  to 
Great  Britain.  Steenstrup  concludes  that  there  is  no 
connection  between  the  Scandinavian  ballads,  which  are 
like  ours  in  form  as  well  as  matter,  and  the  heroic  poems 
of  the  Edda.  We  can  hardly  doubt  that  English  ballads 
could  be  traced  back  in  an  unbroken  chain  to  the 
primitive  Germanic  song ;  but  we  have  lost  important 
links  of  the  chain.2  What  we  must  do,  when  we  find  it 

1  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  840.     Merbot  (Aesthetische  Studien  zur 
Ags.  Poesie,  Breslau,   1883,   p.  iQff.,   and   especially  p.  31)  gives  a 
list  of  words  used  by  the  Anglo-Saxons  for  different  kinds  of  poetry, 
admits  the  difficulty  of  drawing  conclusions  from  a  language  which 
rioted  in  synonyms,  and  yet  concedes   that  a  mass  of   occasional 
poetry  (liismerleoft,  brydleo\  etc.)  may  be  inferred,  of  which  we  have 
no  actual  remains. 

2  Sievers,  as  is  well  known,  has  explained  Anglo-Saxon  metre  as 
a   recited    verse,   as   sprechvortrag,   compared    with    the    far    older 
Germanic  verse,  which  was  sung,  and  naturally  had  stanzaic  form. 
This  epic  verse  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  poets  was  the  only  form  which 
the  monks  preserved  as  literature,  but  it  is  probable  that  the  people 
sang  their  songs  in  the  old  fashion.     Luick  (Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i, 
998)  assumes  that  the  beginnings  of  the  English  riming  couplet  may 
be  regarded  as  the  Old-Germanic  verse  for  singing  (altgermanischen 
taktierenden  Gesangvers)  revived  for  literary  purposes.     It  is  no  easy 
question  ;  but  one  may  at  least  fancy  some  such  explanation  for  the 
underground  river  of  balladry. 


Ixxii  INTRODUCTION. 

impossible  to  follow  the  actual  ballad,  is  to  follow  its 
elements,  and  so  determine  what  a  rational  inference 
ought  to  conclude  about  their  origin.  Jacob  Grimm  set 
up '  a  primitive  mystery  ;  Scherer  sets  up  a  primitive 
"entertainer,"  a  singer  of  songs,  teller  of  tales,  lecturer 
on  "  the  cause  of  thunder," *  in  short,  an  aesthetic  purveyor 
to  the  Probably  Arboreal  nobility  and  gentry.  One 
process  is  quite  as  reasonable,  and  quite  as  acrobatic,  as 
the  other. 

What  are  these  elements  of  the  ballad  which  make  for 
communal  origin  ?  Aside  from  the  story,  which  may  be 
tradition,  popular  tale,  or  a  loan  from  abroad,  one  must 
reckon  with  the  melody,  or  the  singing  of  ballads,  with 
the  dance,  with  the  refrain  or  chorus,  and  with  the 
important  element  of  spontaneity.  As  a  negative  but 
essential  element,  one  must  include  absolute  ignorance 
of  solitary  composition  and  of  the  ideas  attached  to 
literary  ownership  as  we  know  it. 

VIII. 

No  one  denies  the  singing  of  ballads,  and  for  early 
times  no  one  will  deny  the  prevailingly  social  character 
of  singing.  We  know  of  many  ballad-tunes,  some  of 
them  still  current ; 2  and  evidence  is  overwhelming  that 
an  unsung  ballad  may  go  for  a  contradiction  in  terms. 
With  later  ballads,  instrumental  accompaniment  had  its 
place  ; 3  but  singing  is  always  the  chief  consideration. 

1  See  Scherer,  Poetik,  p.  1 16,  on  the  origin  of  myths. 

2  See  Chappell,  Bohme,  and  other  collections.     Motherwell,  in  the 
Appendix    to   his  Minstrelsy,   gives    thirty-three  such    tunes  taken 
down  from  the  singing.     See  also   F.  Wolf,  Proben  portugiesischer 
.  .  .    Volksromanzcn,  above,  p.  45. 

3  For  the  instruments,  see  Chappell,  I,   247  f.,  and   Ritson,  Anc. 
Songs  and  Ballads,   p.   xlix  ff.,  together  with    Drayton's  Polyolbion, 
Song  iv. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxiii 

Thomas  Rymer,  in  the  romance  of  that  name,1  has  choice 
of  two  supernatural  gifts,  surpassing  ability  either  to 
"  harpe  "  or  else  to  "  carpe  "; 2  and  he  replies  : 

.  .  .  harpynge  kepe  I  none, 3 
For  tonge  es  chefe  of  mynstralcye. 

It  is  true  that  some  of  the  ballads  came  to  be  recited,  on 
account  of  their  great  length;  and  often  a  monotonous 
chant  or  recitative  took  the  place  of  melody.4  But  even 

1  See  Thomas  of  Erceldoune,  ed.  Brandl,  vv.  313  ff.,  687  ff. 

2  That  is,  to  sing  and  narrate,  to  narrate  in  singing. 

3  That  is,  '  I  care  not  at  all  for  harping.' 

4  Standard  passages  which   discuss    this   matter   are   W.  Grimm, 
Heldcnsage?  p.   381;  LacHmann,  Kl.  Sc/tr.,  I,  461  f.,  and   especially 
463  ;  Wolf,  Lais,  p.  48  ff.  ;  Miillenhoff,  Sagen  u.  s.  w.,  p.  ix.     It  is 
not  always  clear  what  antithesis  we  should  understand  by  the  phrase 
"sing  and  say."     In  IVidsift,  v.  54,  it  seems  almost  a  hendiadys, — 
"  to  tell  in  singing  ";  but  singan  o'&Se  secgan  is  common  elsewhere  in 
Anglo-Saxon,  and  Puttenham,  (Arte  of  English  Poesie,  ed.  Arber, 
p.  26)  remarks  that  even  savages  "  do  sing  and  also  say  their  highest 
and  holiest  matter  in  certain  riming  versicles."     Chaucer  must  refer 
to  recitation  in  his  couplet  (Book  Duch.,  v.  471  f.) : 

He  sayed  a  lay,  a  maner  song, 
Withoute  noote,  ivithoute  song ; 

and  in  the  famous  line  of  Troilns,  v,  257,  he  uses  the  antithesis  : 
And  red  wherso  thou  be,  or  elles  songe. 

Even  in  the  singing  a  difference  was  made  between  long  ballads 
and  the  livelier  or  shorter  kind.  Chappell  (II,  790  f.)  speaks  of  his 
third  class  of  "  characteristic  airs  of  England,"  that  is,  "  the  historical 
and  very  long  ballads,"  as  "  in  variably  of  simple  construction,  usually 
plaintive.  .  .  .  One  peculiar  feature  of  these  airs  is  the  long  interval 
between  each  phrase  [sic],  so  well  calculated  for  recitation  and 
recovering  the  breath.  .  .  .  They  were  rarely  if  ever  used  for 
dancing."  Bb'hme  (Geschichte  des  Tanzcs,  p.  239)  thinks  the  old 
narrative  songs  were  given  in  the  recitative  of  a  single  person,  like 
modern  Russian  and  Servian  ballads  ;  the  bystanders  now  and  then 
joined  in  a  sort  of  chorus.  Wissmann  (King  Horn,  Quellcn  u. 
Forschungen,  XLV,  p.  xxii),  conjectures  that  while  the  narrative  parts 


Ixxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

the  longer  English  ballads  were  often  sung,  as  Chappell 
distinctly  affirms  ;  and  the  ordinary  ballad,  probably 
all  primitive  ballads  whatsoever,  were  inseparable  from 
song.  Ballads  were  made  for  singing,  and  to  some 
extent  were  made  in  singing.  The  melody  was  by  no 
means  the  device  of  a  minstrel  to  entertain  the  throng, 

of  King  Horn  were  recited,  the  dialogue  —  always  in  stricter 
stanzaic  form  —  was  sung  ;  and  this  would  somewhat  resemble  the 
mixed  song  and  story  (in  prose)  mentioned  by  Motherwell  in  his 
account  of  certain  Scottish  ballads  {Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  I,  19  ff.) 
and  exemplified  by  Pitcairn's  version  of  "  The  Lass  of  Roch  Royal," 
note  to  Child,  Ballads,  II,  225  (Part  III)  Version  C,  or  by  Version 
H  in  "The  Maid  Freed  from  the  Gallows,"  II,  354,  —  here,  however, 
in  a  vanishing  ratio  of  recitation  or  Comment.  It  should  be 
remembered  that  not  only  does  Scherer  (see  p.  lix,  above)  regard 
this  mingling  of  prose  and  verse  as  the  primitive  form  of  epic,  but 
Joseph  Jacobs  (note  to  "Childe  Rowland,"  in  English  Fairy-Tales, 
p.  240),  discussing  the  cante-fable,  remarks :  "  It  is  indeed  unlikely 
that  the  ballad  itself  began  as  continuous  verse,  and  the  cante-fable 
is  probably  the  protoplasm  out  of  which  both  ballad  and  folk-tale 
have  been  differentiated."  That  "  unlikely,"  however,  very  prettily 
begs  the  whole  question  ;  and  Jamieson's  account  (Illustrations  of 
Northern  Antiquities,  p.  408)  of  the  romance  under  discussion,  as  it 
was  told  to  him  by  a  country  tailor,  "  an  ignorant  and  dull  good 
sort  of  man,"  who  "  recited  in  a  sort  of  formal,  drowsy,  measured, 
monotonous  recitative,"  will  most  admirably  fit  the  "say"  of  our 
formula,  the  artist's  half  of  it,  but  not  the  "  sing,"  which  belongs 
to  ballads  of  the  crowd.  Indeed,  this  seems  the  best  solution  of 
the  whole  question.  "  Sing  and  say "  is  the  antithesis  of  throng 
and  artist,  a  dancing  multitude  and  a  reciting  "  entertainer."  - 
It  is  hardly  necessary,  so  far  as  ballads  are  concerned,  to  take 
sides  in  the  controversy  between  Sievers  (Entstehung  d.  detitschen 
Reimverses,  Paul-Braune,  Beitrdge,  XIII,  I35f.)  and  Moller,  (Zur 
althochdeutschen  Alliterationspoesie,  146  ff.).  Whether  early  Ger- 
manic verse  had  no  ordered  sense  of  melody  and  time,  —  Vigfiisson 
indeed,  speaks  of  "  emphatic  prose "  ( Corpus  Poeticum  Boreale, 
I,  434),  —  as  Sievers  asserts,  or  whether  Moller  is  right  in  his  claims 
for  takt,  it  may  be  safely  assumed  that  actual  ballad  verse  was 
always  stanzaic  and  always  sung.  It  was  quite  distinct  from  the 
continuous  epic  verse. 


INTRODUCTION.  lxxv 

but  the  concerted  work  of  a  throng  to  entertain  itself  ; 
and  this  assertion,  on  the  face  of  it  not  far  from  a  petitio 
principii,  derives  its  best  support  from  the  connection  of 
ballads  with  the  dance. 

The  dance,  in  early  days,  was  inseparable  from  song  ; 
out  of  its  steps  and  windings  came  perhaps  the  fact  and 
certainly  the  terms  of  metre.1  There  is  no  doubt  that 
one  must  look  upon  the  dance  as  centre  and,  in  a  way, 
origin  of*  all  songs  of  the  people.2  "  No  dance  without 
singing"  says  Bohme,  "and  no  song  without  a  dance; 
songs  for  the  dance  were  the  earliest  of  all  songs,  and 
melodies  for  the  dance  the  oldest  music  of  every  race."  3 

• 

1  Scherer,  Geschichte  d.   deutschen   Sprache?   p.    624.      In   many 

tongues,  dance  and  song  are  convertible  terms.  Icelandic  danz, 
though  a  foreign  word,  is  used  very  early  in  the  sense  of  our  "  ballad," 
a  song  to  which  people  dance  :  see  Cleasby-Vigftisson,  Dictionary, 
p.  96,  with  the  classic  passage.  Our  own  words,  like  "  ballad  "  itself, 
"  carol,"  and  others,  help  the  etymological  argument.  —  Religious 
and  social  questions  cannot  be  considered  here  :  see  Livy,  i,  20,  on 
the  Salian  priests,  or  Mullenhoff  (Festgabe  f.  G.  Homeyer :  iiber 
den  Schwerttanz,  especially  p.  117)  on  the  instrumental  accompani- 
ment of  the  Germanic  sword-dance.  One  is  inclined,  though  Moller 
explicitly  opposes  it,  to  assume  a  ballad  of  battle  sung  to  this  cadence 
of  step  and  flashing  sword.  The  Grimms  (Deutsche  Sagen,  I,  210) 
promised  a  description  of  the  later  Hessian  sword-dance  "  with  the 
song  of  the  dancers."  See  references  (for  later  German  literature) 
in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  835.  Scott  (see  Lockhart's  Life,  ed.  1837, 
III,  162  :  Amer.  ed.,  II,  130)  refers  to  an  account  of  the  Shetland 
sword-dance,  and  speaks  of  "  the  lines,  the  rhymes,  and  the  form 
of  the  dance." 

2  "  Mittelpunkt  alles  Volksgesanges  "  :  Mullenhoff,  Sagen,  u.  s.  TV., 
p.  xxv.     Bbhme  (Tarn,  p.  13)  thinks  all  lyric  poetry,  even,  began  in 
the  dance.     Jeanroy,  Les  Origines  de  la  Poesie  Lyrique  en  France, 
p.  357  ff.,  gives  ample  material  from  Romance  poetry  in  support  of 
these  views  ;  and  he  adds  :  "  Dans  ces  fetes  [dancing  and  singing] 
non  seulement  on  chantait  les  chansons,  mais  on  en  composait " 
(P-  390). 

3  Altdeutschcs  Liederbuch,  p.  xxxv  ;    Geschichte  d.  Tanzes,  p.  4. 


Ixxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Besides  this  wider  association  of  song  and  dance,  it  is 
of  importance  to  note  the  close  connection  between 
dancing  and  the  narrative  ballad.  As  early  as  the 
seventeenth  century,  Faroe  islanders  were  known  to  use 
their  traditional  songs  as  music  for  the  dance  ;  and  later 
the  invaluable  work  of  Lyngbye  mentions  as  favorite  not 
only  the  satiric  ballad,  but  even  the  distinctly  heroic 
ballad.  Dancing,  says  Lyngbye,1  is  the  islanders'  chief 
amusement.  At  a  given  dance,  one  or  more  •  persons 
begin  to  sing,  then  all  folk  present  join  in  the  ballad,  or, 
at  the  very  least,  in  the  refrain.  "  The  purpose  of  the 
song  is  not,  like  dance-music,  simply  to  order  the  steps, 
but  at  the  same  time  by  its  meaning  and  contents  to 
waken  certain  feelings.  One  can  notice  by  the  demeanor 
of  the  dancers  that  they  are  not  indifferent  to  the  tendency 
and  spirit  of  the  song  ; 2  for  by  their  gestures  and 
expressions  they  take  pains,  while  they  dance,  to  show  the 
various  contents  of  it."  Thus,  amid  conditions  which 
come  nearer  to  the  primitive  state  than  any  of  which  we 
have  such  accurate  knowledge,  is  found  a  genuine  song 
of  the  people,  in  which  dancing  is  the  main  fact,  singing 
a  necessity,  heroic  deeds  a  favorite  subject,  and  sponta- 
neous composition  by  a  part  or  the  whole  of  the  throng 
a  not  infrequent  factor.  We  note  the  present  and 
immediate  influence  of  those  doings  which  the  song 
chances  to  describe  ;  no  one  person  is  needed  to  interpret 
between  the  fact  and  the  metrical  form.  In  Iceland,  to 
take  a  different  phase  of  the  matter,  rimur,  with  metre 

1  Ftzmiske   Quader,  p.  viii.     This   account   is  confirmed   by  later 
observers.     See    Maurer    in   Westermann's    Illustr.    Monatsheften, 
May,   1863,  quoted  by   Bbhme,    Geschichte   d.    Tanzes,  p.  13  ;    and 
Hammershaimb,  Farosk  Anthologi,  p.  xli  ff. " 

2  "  They  follow  the  story  with  breathless   interest,"  says  Ham- 
mershaimb ;  and  he  describes  the  dramatic  fervor  with  which  they 
make  real  again  the  ballad  of  a  victorious  battle. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxvii 

like  that  of  our  own  ballads,  have  long  been  used  for 
the  dance,  and  are  often  variations  of  the  old  sagas.1 
Something  of  the  same  sort,  too,  is  told  of  dwellers  on 
the  Cimbrian  peninsula.  Writing  in  1652,  Giesebrecht 
remarks  2  that  this  folk  still  loved  to  dance  to  songs  of 
battle  and  conquest  ;  while  earlier  yet,  we  have  the  well 
known  account  of  Neocorus,3  much  to  the  same  effect. 
This  chronicler,  a  priest  who  writes  at  the  beginning  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  is  full  of  wonder  at  the  way  in 
which  unschooled  peasants  answer  every  poetic  demand, 
b.e  it  grave  or  merry.  One  gathers  that  their  favorite 
ballads  for  the  dance  were  of  the  traditional  and  heroic 
kind.  As  the  Faroe  islanders  still  sang  of  Sigurd,  so  the 
Cimbrian  peasants  loved  a  story  of  their  own  victory 
in  warfare  against  overwhelming  odds. 4  From  the 
neighboring  Frisians,  too,  we  have  a  ballad,  said  to  be  the 
only  real  song  of  antiquity  which  the  race  has  preserved  ; 5 
and  to  this  solitary  song  they  were  wont,  two  centuries 
ago,  to  tread  their  only  national  dance.  The  dramatic 

1  The  rimur  were  narrative,  the  mansongr,  to  be  noted  below,  were 
lyric.     From  the  fourteenth  century,  these  rimur  were  almost  the 
only  poetry  known  in  Iceland,  until  our  own  century,  —  excluding, 
of  course,  clerical  religious  verse.     See  Th.  Mobius  in  Erganzungs- 
band  of  Zacher's  Zeitschrift  filr  deutschc  Pliilologie,  1874,  p.  60. 

2  Quoted  by  Miillenhoff,  Sagen,  u.  s.  w.,  p.  xxii  f. 

3  Chronik,  ed.  Dahlmann,  I,  176  f  ;  II,  559  ff. 

*  See  also  Miillenhoff,  Sagen,  pp.  xxv,  xxx,  xxxv,  as  well  as  the 
ballads  on  the  battle  of  Hemmingstede  (1500),  at  p.  59  ff.,  which 
were  avowedly  used  for  the  national  dance.  In  regard  to  lighter 
ballads  of  this  folk  (see  Bohme,  Altd.  Licderb.,  p.  375  ff.),  one  may 
question  the  inference  of  Vogt  (Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  372)  that 
the  presence  of  mother,  daughter  and  knight  in  the  "  springtanz," 
proves  this  ballad  to  be  direct  copying  of  Neidhart's  well  known 
peasant-dances,  and  not  a  result  of  the  same  impulse  which  found 
expression  in  these  dances.  The  mania  for  "  sources "  knows  no 
limit. 

5  See,  for  words  and  music,  Bbhme,  Altd.  Liederb.,  p.  378  f. 


Ixxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

action  of  the  dancers  was  considerable,  and  the  song 
itself  as  communal  as  possible  in  its  character  ;  dialogue 
abounds,1  repetition  is  constant,  variations  are  progressive, 
and  the  events  are  of  the  simplest  kind.  This  song  was 
of  a  cheerful  cast ;  but  such  ballads,  it  may  be  remarked, 
were  not  always  of  a  bright  and  lively  nature.  One  did 
not  dance  simply  because  one  was  merry,  because  one 
was  born  under  Beatrice's  star  ;  but  the  slow  and  stately 
measure  of  a  tragic  ballad  could  time  more  solemn  steps.2 
The  main  point,  however,  is  this  prevailingly  narrative 
character  of  the  oldest  ballads,  and  their  inevitable 
connection  with  the  dance.  Even  later  narrative  ballads, 
like  those  of  Robin  Hood,  were  more  or  less  used  by  the 
dancers.  True,  because  a  dance  bears  the  name  of  a 
ballad,  we  cannot  conclude  that  the  precise  ballad 
which  we  now  know  by  that  name  was  always  sung  as 
accompaniment  of  the  dance  in  question  ;  but  when  the 
author  of  the  "  Complaynt  of  Scotland  "  says  that  his 
shepherds  danced  "  Robene  hude,  thorn  of  lyn,3  .  .  . 
ihonne  ermistrangis  dance,"  we  see  no  reason  why  they 

1  On  dialogue  in  the  Romance  ballads,  and  its  connection  with  the 
dance,  see  Jeanroy,  Origines  de  la  Potsie  Lyrique  en  France,  p.  393. 

2  Dance  and  song  were  common  at  medieval  funerals  (see  Bohme, 
Tanz,   p.    10)  ;     and   a   pretty   little   song   called    the    "  Dans   der 
Maechdekens,"  known  in  Flanders  as  late  as  1840  and  sung,  on  the 
occasion  of  a  young  girl's  funeral,  by  the  maidens  of  her  parish, 
seems  to  be  a  distinct  survival  of  the  earliest  choral  dances  at  a 
funeral,  —  those  pagan  affairs  against  which  the  church  made  war. 
See  Kalff,  Het  Lied  in  de  Middelefuwen,  p.  522  ff. —  For  the  Dance 
of  Death,  and  all  its  extravagances,  see  Bohme,  Tanz,  p.  45  ff. 

3  Not,    however,    our  "Tarn    Lin." — As    to    Robin    Hood,    why 
should  this   ballad   be   shunted    off    as   a  "  Chanson   de    Robin," 
a  "  merrie  and  extemporall  song  "  ?    See    Furnivall's  Captain  Cox, 
quoted  in   Complaynt  of  Scotland,  ed.   Murray,   p.  Ixxxviii.     Some 
further  references  for  the  connection  of  ballads  and  dance  are  Wolf, 
Lais,    233  ;    Steenstrup,   Vore  Folkeviser,  8  f.,  23  ff.  ;    and  Schultz, 
Das  hofische  Leben  z.  Zeit  d.  Minnesinger?  I,  544  ff. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxix 

did  not  sing  ballads  of  the  character  indicated  by  the 
titles.  England,  in  those  days,  had  a  supreme  love  of 
song  ;  it  had  a  great  reputation  as  the  home  of  dancing  ;  1 
and  it  had  the  best  of  ballads. 

For  an  Elizabethan  merry-making  one  must  think  of 
ballads  and  their  story  as  ancillary  to  the  dance  itself  ; 2 
but  as  one  goes  further  back,  events  and  the  ballad 
which  sings  them  take  a  more  important  place.  It  was 
under  escort  of  song  and  dance,  one  may  say,  that  great 
national  or  communal  events  forced  themselves  into  verse 
and  found  room  in  popular  memory  ;  such  was  the  case 
with  that  ballad,  made  in  the  seventh  century  to  the 
honor  of  St.  Faro,  and  sung  by  the  women  "  as  they 
danced  and  clapped  their  hands."  3  Unfortunately,  one 
finds  but  scant  material  of  this  sort  ;  but  in  later  days, 
survivals  of  the  narrative  ballad  at  a  dance  are  plentiful 
enough.  Such  seems  to  be  the  Khorovod,  "  blended 
dance  and  song "  of  the  Russians,  an  immemorial 
possession,  prominent  in  all  Slavonic  poetry  of  the 
people.4 

The  song  of  satire  and  mockery  has  been  already 
mentioned  as  favorite  for  the  dance.  Historic  accounts 
of  the  diversion  reach  far  back  into  the  past,  and  survivals 

1  Chappell,  II,  625  f. 

2  So,  too,  on  an  indifferent  occasion.    "  Clap  us  into  Light  o1  Love," 
says  Margaret  in  Much  Ado,  iii,  4  ;    "  that  goes  without  a  burden  : 
do  you  sing  it,  and  I'll  dance  it." 

3  The  record  is  instructive.     "  Ex  qua  victoria  carmen  publicum 
juxta  rusticitatem  per   omnium  pene  volitabat  ora  ita  canentium, 
feminaeque  chores  inde  plaudendo  componebant."     Mabillon,  Acta 
Sanctorum    ordinis  S.  Benedicti,  Venetis,    1733,   H>   59°-     So  "  the 
maidens  and  minstrels  of  Scotland"  (see  p.  xxxiii, 'above)  danced 
and  sang  those  taunting  songs  about  Bannockburn  and  the  English. 

4  Narrative,  too,  are  most  of  the  dance-songs  in  a  modern  Russian 
cottage,  with  interesting  arrangement  of  stanza,  and  the  true  ballad- 
trait  of  repetition.    Ralston,  Songs  of  the  Russian  People,  pp.  2  f.,  34. 


Ixxx  INTRODUCTION. 

of  it  linger  down  to  our  own  day.  Naturally,  a  lazy  race 
of  aristocrats  came  to  be  mere  spectators,  and  watched 
some  hireling  —  jongleur,  minstrel,  or  what  not  —  harp, 
sing  and  mimic  their  foe  in  rude  dance  and  gestures.  In 
such  case  were  the  Norman  revellers  whom  Hereward 
surprised  ; *  but  earlier  and  sounder  folk  danced  to  their 
own  fun,  and  not  by  deputy.  Medieval  dancers  found 
good  sport  of  this  kind  in  mocking  certain  weaknesses  of 
the  clergy  ;  2  and  in  the  schnaderhiipfel,  to  which  South- 
German  peasants  dance,  there  is  ample  satire  of  the 
frankly  personal  sort.  Occasionally  one  finds  a  sort  of 
erotic  satire,  easily  passing  the  bounds  of  decency,  in 
such  guise  as  the  Icelandic  mansongr,  against  which  the 
bishops  had.  to  fight  so  hard  ;  men  and  women  in  the 
dance  exchanged  satiric  stanzas,  mostly  spontaneous,  and 
sometimes  stretching  out  to  poems.3  Among  the  more 
innocent  kinds  of  song  which  served  the  same  turn 

1  "  Joculator  psallendo,  exprobrans  genti  Anglorum,  et  in  medio 
domus  incompositos  quasi  angligenas  fingens  saltus."     Gest.  Herew., 
ed.  Michel,  Chron.  Angl.-A7orm.,  II,  41. 

2  A  survival  of  these  adult  dances  is  clearly  seen  in  the   Flemish 
Varft  Paterken  (Willems,  Oude  Vlaemsche  Liederen,  No.  125)  which 
makes   mock  of    monk  and    nun.     Coussemaker  (Chants  Pop.   des 
Flamands,  p.  328  f.)  gives  it  as  a  game  for  children,  though  evidently 
of  adult  origin  ;  but  this  is  the  right  course.     "  A  children's  game, 
the  last  stage  of  many  old  ballads  "  (Child,  Ballads,  II,  346),  shows 
us  also  the  last  stage  of  many  an  old  dance.     See  Child,  I,   354 
(Part    II),    version    F   of  "The    Maid    Freed   from    the    Gallows." 
MUllenhoff  asserts  that  these  games  give  us  the  best  notion  to  be 
had  of  the  old  choral  hymns  in   our  pagan  worship,  and  collects 
some  rimes  of  the  sort  :    Sagen,  pp.  ix,  xxiv,  484  ff.     There  is  also 
good  material  in  Newell,  Games  and  Songs  of  American  Children, 
New  York,    1883,  and  Jeanroy,  Origines   de   la   Poesie   Lyrique   en 
France,  1889,  p.  394  f. 

3  Mobius    in    Zacher's    Zettschrift,  Ergdnzungsband,    1874,  p.   54. 
These    duels   belong   in    development   to   a  later    stage    than    the 
communal  satire  against  one  person,  like  the  Faroe  fisherman. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxi 

were  riddle-ballads,1  a  series  of  wishes  for  things  quite 
impossible  to  attain,  monstrous  and  emulative  falsehoods, 
strife  between  winter  and  summer,2  the  dialogue  of  two 
lovers,  one  without  and  one  within  the  house,  and  actual 
hymns.  In  short,  any  doing  of  'man,  —  quidquid  agunt 
homines,  —  so  it  went  to  metre,  was  welcome  for  the 
dance.  Dramatic  action  was  common  enough,  for  the 
story  was  made  present  and  belonged  to  every  singer  ; 
and  graceful  gestures,  survival  of  the  older  mimicry,  were 
still  in  vogue  for  the  vanishing  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley 
within  memory  of  living  men.  Indeed,  a  temerarious 
but  catholic  taste  seems  to  have  led  folk  to  play  ball 
along  with  their  dancing,  —  as  if  your  modern  base-runner 
should  "  come  home  in  a  coranto  "  ;  and  one  hears  of  a 
gay  dame  leading  some  medieval  dance,  who  in  the  midst 
of  her  singing  and  her  winding  steps  was  most  regret- 
tably hit  on  the  head  and  killed  by  a  bat  (baculus)  which 
slipped  from  some  man's  hand.3  The  German  Neidhart, 
who  has  so  much  to  say  about  peasants'  dancing,  mentions 
a  gay-colored  ball,  seemingly  as  part  of  the  outfit  ;  while 
there  is  distinct  tripping  of  metre,  if  not  of  steps,  in 
those  dactyls  of  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  : 

1  See  Child,  Ballads,  I,  i  ff. 

2  Uhland,   Volkslieder,   I,    23.  —  Bohme,    Altdcutsches   Liederbuch, 
gives  a  number  of  the  more  or  less  erotic  dances. 

3  Probably  dancers  and  ball-players  were  crowded  together.     This 
"  awful  example  "  is  from  a  medieval  sermon  (often  quoted  :  Schultz, 
Das  hofische  Leben  zur  Zeit  d.  Minnesinger?  I,  541,  who  gives  ample 
material  for  medieval  ball-playing  ;    and  Uhland,  Schriften,  III,  477, 
note)  against  such  follies  as  dancing,  and  may  incidentally  explain 
Edward  Ill's  action  in  forbidding  hand-ball,  foot-ball,  and  club-ball 
to  English  youth  (Strutt,  Sports  and  Pastimes,  Introduction,  section 
xxxvii).     In    the  ballads,  Sir  Hugh   seems    to    have   been    playing 
foot-ball,  a  formidable  punter  for  his    tender  years  ;    the    Earl   of 
Murray  played  at  ba'  not  specified  ;  and  the  four  and   twenty  ladies 
in  "  Childe  Waters,"  and  in  "  Tam  Lin,"  were  probably  tossing  and 
catching. 


JNTRODUCT/OJV. 

Winter  has  left  us  no  pleasance  at  all, 

Leafage  and  heather  have  fled  with  the  fall. 

Bare  is  the  forest  and  dttmb  as  a  thrall: 

If  the  girls  by  the  roadside  were  tossing  the  tall, 

I  could  prick  up  mjf  ears  for  the  singing-tnrdf  call !  1 

The  dancing-song  has  died  out  with  the  good  old  way 
'  of  dancing,  known  now  by  none  but  children.  Neocorus 
.asserts  that  before  1559  dancing  by  pairs  or  couples  was 
unknown  among  his  happy  breed  of  men  ;  it  was  the 
throng,  the  community,  a  ring  of  merry  folk  going  hand 
in  hand,  winding  and  changing,  with  all  voices  raised 
to  make  the  only  music.  Many  considerations  already 
urged,  joined  with  such  a  statement  as  that  quoted  from 
Bohme  in  regard  to  the  origin  of  our  oldest  narrative 
folksongs  in  the  dance  itself,  show  how  carefully  one 
should  regard  this  singing,  dancing,  improvising  multi- 
tude, before  one  says  a  last  word  on  the  origin  of  the 
ballad.  To  be  sure,  there  is  much  talk  about  a  leader,2 
one  who  begins  song  as  well  as  step  ;  but  the  more  prim- 
itive the  dance,  the  less  he  had  to  do.3  Only  in  later 
times  was  conduct  of  the  dance  or  singing  of  new  verses 
assigned  to  one  man.  Still  another  advance  from  prim- 
itive ways  was  the  separation  of  the  dance  from  the  song  ; 
the  former  became  an  affair  of  couples  and  instrumental 
music,  the  latter,  entertainment  by  a  singer  with  more  or 

1  Bohme,  Tanz,  p.  4,  is  inclined  to  give  "  ball "  equal  rights  in  the 
facts  and  etymology  of  "  ballad."  He  says  that  "  in  the  dance  our 
oldest  epic  poems,  —  narrative  folksongs,  —  were  sung,  and  the 
dance  was  the  cause  of  their  making  ;  the  dance,  and  the  game  of 
ball  that  -went  with  it,  gave  to  these  poems  the  name  of  ballad" 

a  •*  Der  des  voresingens  phlac,  Daz  was  Friderich,"  says  Neidhart 
in  description  of  a  peasants'  dance :  Deutsche  Liederdichter*  Bartsch- 
Golther,  xxv,  TV.  405  f. 

*  One  most  carefully  distinguish  this  leader  of  a  communal  dance 
from  the  artists  in  dancing,  the  gleemen,  tumblers,  jugglers  and 
glee-maidens  who  are  so  frequent  in  pictures  in  the  old  MSS. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxiii 

less  in  the  way  of  refrain,  chorus  or  burden  by  the  crowd, 
until,  finally,  even  this  poor  communal  remnant  was  lost, 
and  the  ballad  turned  into  a  recited  story  in  verse. 
The  sometime  leader  is  now  a  minstrel  who  composes 
stanzas,  has  a  latent  sense  of  literary  responsibility  and 
literary  property,  only  to  lose  his  occupation  with  the 
spread  of  printed  books.  Reverse  the  process,  and  this 
leader  becomes  a  hazy  impersonality,  then  vanishes  in 
the  throng.  The  individual  withers  as  we  retrace  our 
steps  in  balladry,  and  the  throng,  with  its  refrain,  is  more 
and  more.1 

This  refrain  is  the  third  and  most  important  element 
for  the  question  in  hand.  According  to  Ferdinand  Wolf,2 
the  refrain  is  as  old  as  any  poetry  of  the  people  and 
occurs  chiefly  therein,  arising  from  direct  participation 
of  the  folk  in  songs  at  worship,  feast,  dance,  game,  or 
whatever  other  primitive  ceremonies.  Classical  writers 
imitated  the  popular  refrain  ; 3  and  one  is  sure  to  find  it 
wherever  one  touches  the  beginnings  of  vernacular  poetry 
in  Europe.  From  this  purely  popular  source  it  passed 
not  only  into  poetry  of  the  schools,  fairly  rioting  in  such 
artificial  forms  as  triolet  or  ballade,  but  also  into  the  new 
ritual  of  the  church.4  If,  then,  as  conservative  writers 

1  Take  the  process  in  little.     Speaking  of  St.  William  of  Orange, 
the  chronicler  (Acta  Sanctorum,  May  6,  Sn)  exclaims  :    "  Qui  chori 
juvenum,  qui  coiruentus  fopulorum    .    .   .   dulce   non   resonant   et 
modulatis  vocibus  decantant,  qualis  et  quantus  fuerit  .  .  .  ?'"    Later, 
Ordericus  Vitalis  says  of  the  same  hero  :    "  Vuigo  canitur  a  jocula- 
toribus  de  illo  cantilena."     (The  quotations  are  taken  from  Nyrop, 
Den  oldfranskf  Hdtedigtning,  p.   15.)  —  Is  not  this  the  history  of 
folksong  ? 

2  Lais,   iSff.     Refrain  carried  from  popular  poetry  into  learned 
Latin  poetry,  pp.  23,  27. 

8  Catullus,  Ixi,  Ixii ;  or  the  famous  Penrigilium  Vcmris. 
4  Church  hymns  are  now  a  fine  refuge  for  critics  who  wish  to 
explain   anything  in    older   vernacular    literature.      But   the   early 


Ixxxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

admit,1  the  so-called  narrative  lyric,  or  ballad  in  stricter 
sense,  was  the  universal  primitive  form  of  poetry  of  the 
people,  and  if,  in  spite  of  some  faint  opposition,2  our  best 
critics  conclude  that  the  refrain  was  a  necessary  part  of 
the  original  ballad,8  it  is  clear  that  a  study  of  the  refrain 
must  throw  some  light  on  the  origins  of  poetry  of  the 
people  in  general.  It  is  of  interest,  moreover,  to  find 
the  refrain  best  represented  in  those  English  and  Scottish 
ballads  which  spring  from  pure  tradition  and  are  of  the 
most  distinctly  popular  type.4 

The  precise  nature  of  the  refrain  in  any  ballad  is  not 
always  easy  to  define.5  Fortunately,  in  a  description  of 

middle  ages  took  so  much  into  the  church  from  popular  and 
heathen  sources,  that  a  subsequent  "  taking  from  the  church "  was 
often  mere  recovery  of  stolen  goods. 

1  Steenstrup,  Vore  Folkeviser,  p.  53. 

2  Geijer :  see  Steenstrup,  p.  88. 

8  Ibid.,  pp.  88,  in  :  "en  folkevise  altid  har  omkvasd."  Steenstrup 
says  that  out  of  502  ballads  which  he  examined,  "only  about  a  score" 
lacked  the  refrain. 

4  That  is,  in  the  first  volume  of  Professor  Child's  collection,  where 
the  two-line  stanza  and  the  more  popular  or  traditional  ballads  occur. 

5  One  must  distinguish   chorus,  refrain  and  burden.     Burden  is 
sometimes  used  in  its  stricter  sense,  as  defined  by  Chappell,  I,  222  : 
"  The  burden  of  a  song,  in  the  old  acceptation  of  the  word,  was  the 
base,  foot,  or  under-song.     It  was  sung  throughout,  and  not  merely 
at  the  end  of  the  verse."     Thus,  in  the  quotation  given  above  from 
Much  Ado,  Margaret  proposes  a  song  "  that  goes  without  a  burden  " 
because  there  was  no  man  on  the  stage  to  sing  this  base  or  foot ;  so 
that  Light  o1  Love,  remarks  Chappell,  was  "strictly  a  ballett,  to  be 
sung  and  danced."     Murray's  Dictionary  refers,  for  this  use  of  the 
word,  to  Shakspere's  Lttcrece,  1133  : 

For  burden-wise  I'll  hum  on  Tarquin  still, 

While  thou  \sc.  the  nightingale]  on  Tercus  dcscanfst  better  skill. 

But  often,  again,  the  burden  is  confused  with  the  refrain  ;  see 
Murray,  Dictionary,  s.  v.  "  Burden,"  10  :  "the  refrain  or  chorus  of  a 
song ;  a  set  of  words  recurring  at  the  end  of  each  verse."  Guest, 
English  Rhythms,  II,  290,  defines  "Burthen"  as  "the  return  of  the 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxv 

the  popular  dance  in  his  own  day,  Neocorus  speaks 
definitely  of  the  parts  played  by  the  leader  and  the 
throng,  so  far  as  the  ballad  was  concerned.  The  leader 
of  the  song,  who  usually  holds  a  drinking-cup  in  his 
hand,  and  sometimes  sings  alone,  sometimes  calls  in  a 
colleague,  begins  the  ballad.  "  And  when  he  has  sung  a 
verse,  he  sings  no  further,  but  the  whole  throng,  who 
either  know  the  ballad,  or  else  have  paid  close  attention 
to  him,  repeat  and  echo  the  same  verse.  And  when 
they  have  brought  it  to  the  point  where  the  leader 
stopped,  he  begins  again,  and  sings  another  verse." 
This  is  again  repeated.  Presently,  with  the  singing  thus 
under  way,  a  leader  of  the  dance  comes  forward,  hat  in 

same  words  at  the  close  of  each  stave."  The  refrain  is  the  repetition 
of  a  certain  passage  at  regular  intervals,  and  is  thus  of  service  in 
marking  off  a  stanza  :  see,  for  oldest  English,  Dior's  Song,  or  for 
later  rimeless  and  unsung  verse,  Tennyson's  Tears,  Idle  Tears,  or 
Lamb's  Old  Familiar  faces.  In  ballads,  however,  the  refrain  is 
undoubtedly  the  recurring  verse  or  verses  sung  by  the  .throng  in 
contradistinction  to  the  main  body  of  the  ballad,  which  for  later 
times,  was  the  business  of  the  leader  or  minstrel.  It  is  no  easy 
matter  to  adjust  the  relations  of  the  burden  and  the  refrain.  The 
latter  may  have  been  originally  more  like  the  burden  in  its  strict 
meaning,  and  would  thus  imply  constant,  not  intermittent,  singing 
of  the  throng  :  see  Jeanroy,  Poesie  Lyrique  en  France,  p.  104,  for  a 
hint  in  this  direction,  and  Professor  Child's  note,  Ballads,  I,  7. 
The  question  is  very  complicated :  see  Valentin,  Studien  iiber  die 
schwedischen  Volksmclodien,  p.  9  f.  It  is,  for  example,  a  temptation 
to  infer  from  the  greater  proportion  of  refrains  preserved  with  two. 
line  stanzas,  that  the  four-line  stanza  was  developed  out  of  this 
two-line  stanza  with  double  refrain  ;  but  many  facts  lie  in  the  way 
of  such  an  assumption.  Rosenberg's  plea  for  the  theory  is  rejected 
by  Steenstrup,  V.  F.,  p.  120.  It  will  be  best,  therefore,  for  present 
purposes,  to  use  "  refrain "  simply  as  the  recurrent  passage  or 
passages  which  seem  to  have  been  sung  by  the  crowd,  and  to  leave 
unsettled  the  actual  manner  of  singing.  The  chorus  was  a  whole 
stanza  sung  after  each  new  stanza  of  the  ballad,  —  as  in  The  Twa 
Magicians,  Child,  Ballads,  I,  403. 


Ixxxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

hand,  dances  about  the  room,  and  invites  the  whole 
assembly  to  join.1  Evidently,  this  is  a  very  elaborate 
affair,  and  for  more  primitive  relations  we  may  certainly 
suppose  the  entire  crowd  singing  to  their  own  steps.2 
Again,  as  in  Icelandic  ballads,3  we  may  think  of  the 
leader  singing  an  initial  stanza,  which  the  crowd  con- 
tinue to  sing  as  burden  or  accompaniment  to  the  new 
verses  of  the  leader  ;  a  long  burden,  overlapping  the 
stanza,  would  be  partly  heard  as  a  refrain. 

However  all  this  may  have  been,  the  refrain  was  sung 
by  the  throng,  and  means  more  and  more  as  we  approach 
primitive  relations.  In  later  ballads  the  refrain  bears  a 
lyrical  character,  and  seems  to  express  the  tone  or  motive 
of  the  whole  piece,  or  even  forms  a  part  of  the  story.4 
Often  it  merely  states  the  time  of  year,  reminding  one 
distantly  of  the  beautiful  stanzas  which  open  such  a 
ballad  as  "Robin  Hood  and  the  Monk";  or  else  a 
double  refrain  could  combine  the  season  of  the  year  with 
the  mood  and  feeling  of  the  narrative.  There  is  also  a 
merely  interjectional  refrain,  not  found  in  Danish  ballads, 
but  common  in  German,  the  Ha!  or  Eja!  which  was 
once,  in  all  probability,  an  outcry  of  some  sort  at  the 
dance.5  It  is  instructive  to  note  more  developed  forms 
of  this  outcry,  —  what  a  French  writer  has  called  the 
refrains  par  onomatopkes,  —  as  well  as  the  half-intelligible, 
half-interjectional  "refrain  without  a  song." 

Whatever  the  nature  of  the  refrain,  it  was  sung  by  the 
crowd.  Talvj  admits  this  ; 6  but  at  the  same  time  wrongly 

1  Neocorus,  Chronik,  ed.  Dahlmann,  I,  177. 

2  Bohme,  Tanz,  p.  229. 

3  See  The  Elfin  Knight,  and  Professor  Child's  note,  Ballads,  I,  7. 

4  Steenstrup,   as  quoted   above.      Lundell,   in    Paul's    Grundriss, 
II,  i,  728. 

5  Steenstrup,  p.  78  ;    Uhland,  Schr.,  Ill,  392  f. ;    Tiersot,  Chanson 
Populaire,  p.  1 24  f . 

6  Characteristik,  p.  335  f. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxvii 

attributes  the  origin  of  the  refrain  to  an  arbitrary  and 
often  spontaneous  invention  of  the  minstrel.  In  a  prac- 
tical way,  the  refrain  undoubtedly  served  to  give  the 
leader  breathing-space,  literal  and  figurative  ;  the  crowd 
took  up  the  song,  while  he  either  recalled  or  improvised 
another  stanza.1  But  this  accidental  advantage  is  no 
ultimate  reason  for  the  refrain,  and  dwindles  before  the 
significance  of  the  fact  that  refrains  increase  in  import- 
ance as  one  approaches  the  beginnings  of  vernacular 
poetry,  receding,  so  to  speak,  from  the  leader  or  the 
minstrel,  slipping  from  his  control,  and  at  last  dominating 
the  ballad  itself.  Setting  aside  the  vanity  of  dog- 
matizing, one  feels  inclined  to  assert  that  the  original 
ballad  must  have  been  sung  by  all,  as  it  was  danced 
by  all ;  the  division  of  labor  implied  in  the  leader's 
song  and  the  crowd's  refrain  surely  indicates  a  later 
adjustment. 

Dr.  Meyer 2  attacks  the  question  of  origins  by  a  study 
of  the  unintelligible  refrain.  This,  he  says,  was  simply 
the  inarticulate  cry  of  primitive  man,  the  sudden  sense 
of  fear,  delight,  wonder,  grief,  or  love,  expressed  in  a 
melodious  sound  or  series  of  sounds,  —  the  earliest  form 
of  poetry.  This  sound  or  series  of  sounds  is  preserved 
by  the  piety  of  a  later  age  in  its  original  and  now  mean- 
ingless form,  imbedded  among  the  articulate  words  of  a 
developed  song.  Take,  for  example,  the  threnody.  In 
earliest  verse  of  the  sort,  says  Meyer,8  one  may  fancy  "  a 
monotonous  repetition  of  emotional  sounds."  Indeed,  we 

1  R.  M.  Meyer,  Zcitschrift  f.  vergleichcnde  Literatur,  I,  35,  suggests 
that  early  poetry  may  well  have  had  but  slight  sense  of  proportion 
and  succession,  just  as  early  painting  knew  no  perspective  ;  and  thus 
the  refrain  served  to  keep  the  general  theme  in  mind  and  to  preserve 
harmony  of  arrangement. 

2  In   the  article  just  quoted,  Ucbcr  den  Refrain,  Ztst.  f.  vgl.  Lit., 

I.  34-47- 
8  Ibid.,  p.  38. 


Ixxxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

may  add  that  this  impulse,  in  the  guise  of  iteration,  plays 
a  leading  part  in  modern  poetry  of  grief,  where,  too,  a 
measured  and  harmonious  march  of  verse  often  testifies 
to  an  older  stateliness  of  choral  lamentation.  The 
development  of  a  funeral  refrain  out  of  these  inarticu- 
late sounds  of  woe  is  not  a  hard  matter.  Emotional 
utterances,  cries  of  grief,  of  rage  or  delight,1  meaningless 
at  first,  soon  take  on  a  meaning  and  form  the  basis  of 
choral  hymns  which  afterwards  began  and  ended  with 
these  cries.  In  a  way,  they  are  the  primitive  text  of  the 
hymn  ;  later  they  are  the  refrain  of  it ;  in  any  case,  they 
are  absolutely  communal  in  origin.2 

With  regard  to  the  meaning  of  the  refrain,  and  speak- 
ing for  English  and  Scottish  ballads,  we  may  note 
a  considerable  range.  Often  it  is  inarticulate,  often  a 
series  of  meaningless  words.  In  "The  Fair  Flower  of 
Northumberland,"3  however,  the  refrain  runs  very  well 
with  a  story  of  escape  and  elopement  across  the  border : 

Follow,  my  love,  come  over  the  strand. 

Probably,  too,  we  import  no  alien  sentiment  when  we 
note  the  touch  of  pathos  and  comment  in  the  refrain  of  a 
traditional  version  of  "Leesome  Brand  ": 4 

1  Peace  to  the  barditus  (Tacitus,   Germania,  c.  3),  and  German 
commentators  :   that  way  madness  lies.     Nor  need  sailors'  chanteys 
be  invoked :    see   Laura  Alexandrine  Smith,  Music  of  the  Waters, 
London,  1888;   and  John  Ashton,  Real  Sailor  Songs,  London,  1891, 
a  sumptuous  folio. 

2  These  considerations   move   Meyer   to   assume  four  stages  of 
poetry :    Primitive,    Natural,    The    People,   The    Schools.  —  Scott's 
"  Eleu  Loro "  in  Marmion  is  an  example  of  the  inarticulate  refrain 
revived. 

3  Child,  Ballads,  I,  H3f.     This  is  Version  A.     In  B  there  is  no 
doubt  about  the  corresponding  refrain  : 

A  may's  Itrce  whiles  is  easy  won. 
«  Ibid.,  I,  184. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxix 

There  is  a  feast  in  your  father's  house, 
( The  broom  blooms  bonnie,  and  so  it  is  fair] 

It  becomes  you  and  me  to  be  very  douce, 

(And  we'll  never  gang  up  to  the  broom  nae  mair).1 

However,  putting  the  dreams  aside,2  the  memories  and 
hauntings  provoked  by  this  stretched  metre  of  an  antique 

1  Of  most  of  these  refrains  Motherwell  remarks  that  they  have 
meanings  lost  to  our  ears,  but  significant  enough  to  men  of  older 
time.    Steenstrup  says  that  the  refrain  "always  strikes  the 'note' 
or  mood  of  the   ballad."      Of  merely  inter] ectional  or  inarticulate 
refrains  we  have   many  cases  ;    for   example,   the  "  O  "   (or  "  A  "  : 
see  Webbe,  Discourse  of  Engl.  Poetrie,  ed.  Arber,  p.  36,  with   the 
allusion  to  "  Robyn  hoode  ")  at  the  end  of  a  line  :   see  Nos.  58,  B  ; 
65,  E  ;    100,  F,  and  others,  in  Child's  Ballads.     Such,  too,  are  the 
"  Fal,  lal "  (No.   164)  and  the  frequent  "Hay  doune"  (81,  A)  with 
its  variations.     Combinations  of  the  inarticulate  with  the  articulate 
refrain  meet  us  in  "  Earl  Brand  " : 

Ay  lilly  o  lilly  lally 
All  i  the  night  sae  early, — 

and  in  "  Babylon,"  where  a  meaning  is  evident  ;  while  no  meaning 
attaches  to  refrains  like  (i)  : 

Jennifer  gentle  and  roscmaree 
As  the  dew  flies  over  the  mulberry  tree. 
Refrain  of  the  season  is  common  (4,  and  see  10,  T)  : 
Aye  as  the  goivans  grow  gay 
The  first  morning  in  May. 

A  refrain,  or  genuine  burden,  longer  than  the  stanza  of  the  ballad,  is 
found  in  "The  Elfin  Knight,"  (2,  A)  :  compare  "The  Twa  Sisters," 
and  "  The  Three  Ravens."  The  iteration  of  ballads,  which  may 
stand  in  no  distant  relation  to  the  refrain,  is  almost  identical  with 
the  latter  in  "  Lord  Randal,"  or  with  shorter  form,  in  "  Edward." 
In  version  J  of  "Lord  Randal"  (Child,  I,  163 f.)  each  verse  is 
repeated,  in  the  form  a  a  b  b  for  the  stanza  ;  see  F  in  "  Lamkin  " 
(Part  IV,  p.  328).  In  four-line  stanzas  the  fourth  line  is  often 
repeated  (a  b  c  b  b) :  see  33,  B,  G;  52,  A  ;  70,  B;  75,  H,  and  many 
others.  The  third  and  fourth  lines  may  both  be  repeated :  see 
58,  D;  87,  B;  and  so  with  the  first  and  second:  see  97,  B.  In 
a  b  c  b  b,  the  repeated  line  is  usually  shorter  by  a  measure  than  the 
fourth.  Scott  has  imitated  this  refrain  in  his  song  in  Rokeby,  —  "A 
weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid." 

2  "  La  poesie,"  says  Sainte-Beuve  in  a  sentence  that  applies  as  well 


XC  INTRODUCTION. 

song,  we  are  at  least  justified  in  claiming  the  refrain, 
whether  for  its  origin  or  for  its  functions  in  the  ballad, 
as  a  distinctly  communal  matter.  It  is  almost  the  only 
rudiment  of  primitive  choral  poetry1  surviving  to  our 
day  ;  and  it  has  come  down  to  us  as  companion  of  the 
ballad  and  the  dance.  As  the  throng  must  find  larger 
and  larger  sway  in  times  more  and  more  primitive,  so,  as 
we  approach  those  times,  the  refrain  loses  its  air  of 
service  and  speaks  with  more  masterful  accent,  the 
central  fact  of  the  ballad. 

Song,  dance,  and  refrain  have  led  us  towards  the 
primitive  throng  and  away  from  the  modern  artist.  There 
is,  however,  another  element  which  seems  to  make 
for  communal  origins,  —  the  element  of  spontaneity  and 
rapid  improvisation  by  members  of  a  throng.  Early 
verse  was  of  a  momentary  and  occasional  character.  Plan 
and  design  come  with  the  artist ;  planless,  spontaneous 
poetry,  offspring  of  the  instant  and  of  the  need  for 
expression,  is  likely  to  be  the  product  of  a  throng.  The 
tracks  of  thought  are  sure  to  diverge  ;  but  the  impression 
of  a  moment  may  have  one  form  in  many  minds,  and  find 
vent  in  one  and  the  same  outcry. 

To  review  the  facts,  one  finds  improvisation  dominant 
in  all  poetry  of  the  people.  In  certain  parts  of  Scandi- 
navia it  is  still  usual  for  nearly  every  one  of  the 
community  to  sing  at  call  a  quatrain  of  his  own  making, 
or  at  least  a  variation  of  some  traditional  stanza.  These 

to  ballads  as  to  such  a  verse  as  Coleridge's  "  Upon  his  shield  a 
burning  brand,"  —  "  la  poesie  ne  consiste  pas  a  tout  dire,  mais  a  tout 
faire  rever." 

1  Lack  of  space  forbids  the  evident  references  to  religious  ceremo- 
nies and  primitive  worship  generally.  We  know  that  the  refrain 
rang  out  as  Germanic  warriors  marched  to  fight  :  "  Sang  uuas 
gisungan,  Uuig  uuas  bigunnan,"  says  the  Ludwigslied,  Mullenhoff- 
Scherer,  Denkmaler,  No.  xi,  v.  48  f.  See  also  Miillenhoff,  de  antiq. 
German,  poesi  chorica,  Kiel,  1847. 


INTRODUCTION.  xci 

stev  are  described  by  Landstad  1  as  of  two  kinds,  with 
improvisation  for  the  common  and  most  prominent 
feature,  and  communal  drinking  and  dancing  as  the 
proper  conditions  ;  although,  he  remarks,  in  modern 
times  one  is  more  likely  to  remember  and  vary  than  to 
compose  outright.  The  variety  of  stev  now  most  popular 
is  the  rapid  dialogue,  in  which  the  singers  propose  a  set 
of  alternate  riddles,  or  express  their  feelings  about 
something,  or  else  —  by  preference  —  gibe  and  taunt  each 
other.  But  this  duel  in  song,  this  attempt  to  overwhelm 
one's  opponent  by  sheer  profusion  of  verses,  or  by 
extravagant  bragging,  is  in  Landstad's  opinion  only  a  de- 
generation of  the  stev.  The  older  and  normal  stev  were 
in  close  relation  with  heroic  ballads,  were  less  lyric  in 
character,  and  sang  of  deeds  rather  than  of  personal 
emotions.  Improvisation,  however,  was  a  constant  factor  ; 
and  to  this  day  in  Iceland  "there  is  hardly  an  adult  man 
.who  cannot  in  some  fashion  put  verses  together."  2  From 
Norway  to  Italy,  verse-combats  and  like  improvisations 
were  once  universal  and  are  still  far  from  uncommon.8 
Especially  interesting  is  the  German  schnaderhiipfelf  a 
short  song,  usually  of  four  lines,  to  a  simple  air,  and 
mainly  a  pure  improvisation  ;  it  seems  often  to  have  been 
composed  in  the  dances  of  harvest.  Schmeller,  who  lays 
stress  upon  the  spontaneous  element  in  its  making,  brings 
it  into  parallel  with  the  stev  of  Norway  and  the  coplas  of 
Spain  ;  unquestionably  we  are  dealing  with  a  custom  once 
common  among  all  the  peasants  of  Europe,  and,  however 

1  Norske  Folkeviser,  p.  365  ff. 

2  Lundell,  in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  730. 

3  Gustav  Meyer,  Essays  und  Studien,  p.  366  f.,  in  the  essay  on  the 
SchnaderhUpfd. 

4  See   Schmeller,   Bayerisches    Worterbuch,   1836,   III,   499 ;    and 
G.  Meyer,  in  the  essay  just  quoted,  p.  332  ff.,  where  he  discusses  the 
literature  of  the  subject. 


xcii  INTRODUCTION. 

we  may  be  inclined  to  regard  its  later  forms,  with  an 
evident  survival  of  what  we  are  fain  to  call  communal 
poetry.  Significant  is  the  gathering  of  harvesters, —  once 
perhaps  a  whole  tribe,  or  at  least,  a  community,  in  united 
religious  rites  ;  significant  are  the  dance  and  its  impro- 
vised song.  Even  the  scurrilous  quatrain  points  the 
same  way  ;  it  is  the  spontaneous  conversion  of  a  situation 
into  a  ballad  ;  and  how  well  this  ancient  "  chaff  "  could 
rival  the  very  wheat  of  our  modern  and  labored  revilings 
—  Robert  Browning  on  Fitzgerald,  for  instance,  or  Mr. 
Swinburne  in  his  severely  humorous  moments  —  is  matter 
of  record.  Plenty  of  evidence  is  forthcoming  to  prove 
how  far  a  peasant  even  now  surpasses,  in  this  power  of 
spontaneous  verse-making,  the  man  of  culture  and  of 
learning.1  As  regards  the  main  question,  moreover,  it 
is  well  to  note  that  a  recent  critic  combats  the  deriva- 
tion of  isolated  quatrains  from  some  longer  poem,2 
and  maintains  that  such  forms  as  the  schnaderhiipfel 
are  in  themselves  the  original,  here  and  there  form- 
ing a  ballad  by  the  slow  accretion  of  many  separate 
songs.3 

There  is,  then,  no  doubt  in  regard  to  the  frequency  of 
improvisation  down  to  this  day,  not  of  the  ballad,  to  be 
sure,  but  of  what  in  better  times  would  have  gone  to  the 
making  of  the  ballad.  Even  some  modern  ballads  seem 
to  have  this  spontaneous  if  not  communal  origin.  In 
the  preface  written  for  a  translation  of  contemporary 

1  G.  Meyer,  p.  352,  speaks  of  Weimar  peasants  who  sit  in  company 
and  make  couplet  after  couplet,  mostly  merry,  and  often  coarse. 

2  Ibid.,  p.  375  f.     Landstad,  in  his  treatment  of  the  stev,  leaned  to 
this  theory  of  fragments. 

3  It  is  interesting  to  note  in  the  rimes  used  for  children's  games  a 
tendency  to  the  quatrain,  with  added  refrain  or  chorus,  and  also  with 
the  assonance  and  other  peculiarities  of  an  old  ballad.     See  Newell, 
Games  and  Songs  of  American  Children,  p.  10  f. 


INTRODUCTION.  xciii 

Roumanian  ballads,1  Carmen  Sylva  says  that  most  of 
them  are  improvisations,  "  sung  to  a  monotonous  chant," 
and  "usually  begin  and  end  with  a  refrain."  This 
improvisation  is  not  confined  to  a  few  singers  ; 2  at  the 
dance,  or  in  the  spinning-room,  a  person  who  would 
escape  his  turn  to  make  a  stanza,  must  follow  the  example 
set  by  Csedmon.  Caedmon,8  of  course,  reminds  us  of 
improvisation  in  our  old  literature  ;  and  for  another 
proof  of  the  ease  with  which  Englishmen  of  that  day 
dropped  into  poetry,  one  may  take  threats  of  the  church 
against  any  priest  who,  —  welcome,  of  course,  to  make  a 
pious  chanson  as  often  as  he  pleased, —  should  in  an 
unguarded  moment  "  turn  gleeman  or  ale-bard."  4  But 
we  need  go  no  farther  afield  in  search  of  evidence  about 
this  spontaneous  character  of  early  poetry  ;  the  difficulty 
besets  us  not  here,  but  in  the  actual  process  of  primitive 
"  making." 

1  The  Bard  of  the  Dimbovilzka,  London,  1892. 

2  Ralston  quotes  good  authority  to  the  same  effect  for  the  powers 
of    improvisation    shown   by  peasants,  —  particularly   women,  —  in 
Russia.     Songs  of  Russian  People,  pp.  40  f.,  54. 

8  Bede,  Hist  Eccl.,  iv,  24  (22). 

*  Schmid,  Gesetze  d.  Angelsachsen?  p.  366  :  gif  friost  oferdrtmcen 
lufigc,  oftfte  gliman  oftfte  eala-scop  ivur¥>e.  —  There  are  ample  hints  of 
improvisation  in  our  older  literature.  In  Beowulf,  the  "  king's 
thane  "  not  only  sings  a  traditional  ballad  of  Sigmund,  but  seems 
to  improvise  a  lay  about  the  deed  which  has  just  been  done  (Beow., 
v.  867  ff.)  ;  and  perhaps  the  same  is  true  of  the  warriors  who  ride 
about  the  hero's  tomb,  and  chant  his  praises.  King  Cnut  has 
at  least  the  reputation  of  an  early  water-poet  ;  and  Hereward  plays 
his  harp  and  sings  his  own  ballad  cunctis  admirantibus  (De  Gcstis 
Herewardi  in  Michel,  Chron.  Norm.,  II,  19).  King  Horn  (A'.  //., 
ed.  Wissmann,  1485  ff.),  in  a  well  known  passage,  takes  his  harp, 
and  sings  to  Rymenhild  a  lay  of  his  own  making. 


xciv  INTRODUCTION. 

IX. 

Early  poetry  was  undoubtedly  choral,  and  mainly  in 
the  service  of  communal  religious  ceremonies  ; l  leader 
or  vorsinger  becomes  more  important  as  the  arts  are 
developed  and  the  individual  makes  himself  felt,  very 
much  as  in  the  growth  of  Greek  tragedy  the  chorus 
retired  in  favor  of  the  actor.2  In  one  way,  we  must 
leave,  even  amid  the  most  primitive  relations,  ample 
verge  and  room  enough  for  an  incipient  artist  in  verse. 
The  lover  made  a  love-song  ;  but  it  was  for  singular  and, 
practical  purposes.  It  is  true  that  erotic  songs  were  often 
choral,  with  epic  and  dramatic  leanings  ;  as  making  of 
the  individual,  however,  they  were  like  the  modern 
Finnish  or  Italian  love-lays  about  which  collectors  tell 
us,  and  were  meant  by  the  lover  for  his  beloved  alone.3 
Private  sentiment  had  no  public  interest.  To  publish  for 
money  one's  affairs  of  the  heart  would  have  struck 
primitive  man,  as  it  strikes  the  modern  peasant  girl,  as 
absurd  in  the  extreme  ;  while  the  making  of  love-lays 
to  nobody  in  particular  would  have  baffled  primitive  logic.4 

1  See  Paul  in  his  Grundriss,  I,  225  ;  Kogel,  ibid.,  II,  i,  166  ; 
Kluge  in  the  Englische  Studien,  VIII,  481. 

1  2  Such  we  take  to  be  Miillenhoff's  general  meaning  when  (Lieder 
u.  s.  w.,  p.  ix)  he  says  that  at  the  tribal  wandering  ( Volkerwanderung) 
song,  which  had  formerly  been  sung  only  by  a  chorus  or  crowd,  now 
became  "  free,"  and  was  at  the  discretion  of  individual  singers. 

3  Even  J.   Grimm  seems  to  have  granted  lyric  equal  date  with 
epos  :    Kl.  Schr.,  II,  75  ;   Mullenhoff-Scherer,  Denkmaler?  II,  154  ; 
Burdach  in  Haupt's  Zeitschrift,  XXVII,  347  f.  ;    Talvj,  Charakter- 
istik,  p.  5  f.    Of  course,  as  a  matter  of  literature,  epic  has  precedence 
of  record. 

4  A  middle-aged  gentleman  who  pays  bills  and  taxes,  disciplines 
his  children,  and  has  the  minister  to  dinner,  yet  frequently,  in  the 
magazines,  or  in  a  volume  of  verses,  raves,  dies,    or   is   ready  to 
embark  upon  a  career  of  crime,  for  the  sake  of  a  supposititious  young 
woman,  challenges  even  the  modern  sense  of  humor. 


INTRODUCTION.  xcv 

It  is  probably  safe  to  say  that  public  poetry  of   those 
times  was  made  in  public,  and  by  the  public.1 

Here  is  the  obnoxious  phrase  once  more,  but  this  time 
it  must  be  squarely  met  and  squarely  explained.  It  was 
this  phrase,  or  something  very  like  it,  which  ten  Brink 
undertook  to  justify,  directly  in  his  fragment,  and  indi- 
rectly in  his  book  on  the  Beowulf.2  First  of  all,  he  bids 
the  critic  part  company  with  our  modern  notion  of  author- 
ship. Solitary  composition  would  have  been  as  hard  for 
primitive  man  to  understand  as  communal  authorship  is 
hard  for  us.  Poetry  was  a  common  possession  ;  there  was 
no  production,  to  quote  ten  Brink's  admirable  phrase, 
but  reproduction.  There  were  variations,  additions,— 
spontaneous  and  free ;  but  no  composition,  no  originality, 
as  we  mean  the  term.  In  a  sense,  too,  their  song  had 
neither  beginning  nor  end ;  it  was  taken  up  and  put 
down,  but  never  definitely  bounded ;  as  they  knew 
neither  writer  nor  writing,  so  they  knew  nothing  of  the 
literary  unit,  the  poem  in  and  for  itself.  All  was  in  flux ; 
out  of  a  common  store  of  tradition,  by  a  spontaneous  and 
universal  movement,  song  rose  and  fell  according  to  the 
needs  of  the  community.8 

Now  when  Grimm  bids  one  think  of  a  race  composing 
songs,  one  keeps  in  mind  the  modern  way  of  composition 
and  therefore  calls  the  phrase  nebulous  or  silly.  From 

1  Lyric  in  epic,  emotion  called  forth  by  facts,  is  Gaston  Paris's  idea 
of   primitive  poetry  ;    see  Romania,   XIII,  617.     Ibid.,  p.  618,  he 
defends  the   analogy  between   these   lyric-epic   songs   and    English 
ballads  of  the  border  ;  hence,  one  infers,  he  regards  the  latter  as  a 
sort  of  survival  of  earliest  narrative  song. 

2  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  5i2ff. ;   ten  Brink,  Beowulf,  Qudlen  u. 
Forschungen,  LXII. 

3  Schlegel's  famous  image  of  the  tower  as  poetry  and  an  architect 
as  the  poet,  proves  nothing  and  really  begs  the  question.     A  cairn  is 
easily  raised  by  a  crowd;  plan  and  making  go  together,  and  are 
absolutely  communal.     But  this  sort  of  argument  is  useless. 


xcvi  INTRODUCTION. 

such  a  point  of  view  it  is  nebulous  ;  but  while  one  is 
inclined  under  any  circumstances  to  reject  it  in  its  bare 
and  dogmatic  form,  there  is  a  measure  of  truth  in  it  if 
one  renounces  all  notion  of  modern  authorship.  "Let 
one  fancy,"  says  ten  Brink,  "an  epoch  where  the  same 
culture,  the  same  sentiment,  the  same  expressions,  are 
property  of  a  whole  community  ...  an  epoch  where  a 
poem  comes  to  the  ears  of  the  listener  in  the  very  moment 
which  gives  it  form,  and,  treasured  in  memory,  does  not 
live  again  until  it  is  again  delivered  by  the  voice.  Fancy 
a  poetry  oscillating  perpetually  between  reminiscence  and 
improvisation"  l  If  this  is  true  of  an  age  dominated 
largely  by  the  minstrel,  what  shall  be  said  for  prehistoric 
times  ?  The  singer  is  agent  at  once  of  preservation  and 
of  destruction,  for  he  rescues  specimens  of  a  type  which 
his  incipient  artistry  is  bound  to  destroy.  Hence  the 
absurdity  of  trying  to  discover  in  any  published  ballad 
the  absolutely  impersonal  quality  of  poetry  of  the*  people. 
Successive  triumphs  of  culture  involved  a  series  of 
steps  by  which  the  artist  came  into  prominence  and 
was  made  welcome  by  a  public ;  as  his  note  grows 
more  insistent,  less  and  less  importance  attaches  to  the 
communal  elements  of  poetry,  —  singing,  dancing,  refrain 
and  improvisation.2  Reverse  this  course  of  development ; 
singing  and  dancing  become  obligatory,  the  scope  of  the 
refrain  widens  more  and  more,  improvisation,  varying 

1  Beowulf,   p.   105  f.     See   also   pp.  3,  27,  29,  43,  189,  191,  243. 
Compared  with  ten  Brink's  solidity  of   argument,  Scherer's  air  of 
profound  hinting  and  the  medley  of  Darwin,  Australians,  newspapers, 
and  theatre,  —  brought  forth  in  his  Poetik  to  prove  primitive  author- 
ship nothing  else  than  our  own  authorship,  —  seem  almost  flippant. 

2  Wi'dsiiS,  "  the  Far- wanderer,"  a  blurred,  uncertain,  dateless  figure, 
without  stay  in  any  time  or  land,  a  mere  preserver  of  communal 
makings,  may  go  for   the  old  type  of   singer;    breezy,   confidential 
Deor,  first  singer  of  English  lyric,  may  head  the  modern  list.     The 
two  stand  like  sentries  at  the  gates  of  English  song. 


INTRODUCTION.  xcvii 

with  memory,  is  a  necessity ;  and  we  have  thus,  by  steps 
legitimate  in  every  way,  taken  our  narrative  ballad  back 
to  a  communal  origin,  and  removed  it  from  the  conditions 
of  individual  authorship.  Modern  critics  would  teach  us 
that  the  ballad,  made  as  any  other  poem  is  made,  gets  its 
impersonal  and  differencing  quality  by  oral  transmission 
alone  ;  a  glance  at  the  relations  which  melody,  dance, 
refrain  and  improvisation  bear  to  the  later  narrative 
ballad  shows  us  that  its  earliest  form  could  never  have 
been  that  of  a  poem  such  as  individual  authors  compose, 
and  it  is  these  four  elements,  moreover,  dwindled  and 
uncertain  as  they  are,  which  give  us  our  best  notion  of 
primitive  poetry  in  its  habit  as  it  lived.1 

The  ballad,  then,  is  a  survival  from  this  vanished  world 
of  poetry.  The  particular  ballads  of  the  present  collec- 
tion cannot  be  referred  directly  to  communal  authorship ; 
but  their  differencing  qualities,  the  impersonality,  the 
hint  of  something  which  we  cannot  define  but  as  little 
can  deny,  are  due  to  this  older  connection,  and  are  not 
to  be  explained  by  mere  oral  transmission.2  Sincere, 

1  The  relations  of  ballad  and  epos,  intricate  enough  in  detail,  offer 
no  difficulties  from  this  point  of  view.     Germ  or  aftergrowth  of  the 
epos,  the  ballad  has  its  independent  place  as  a  poetical  fact.     If, 
however,  the  reader  cherishes  a  Shandean  love  of  comparisons,  let 
him  make  what  he  can  of  this  (from  Ferdinand  Wolf,  in    Wiener 
Jahrbiicker,   CXVII,  87):     "The   pure   and   original    epos   is    the 
evening-dream  after  sunset,  sinking  peacefully  into  vague  memories 
of  the  past;    the  lyric-epic  ballad  (volkslied)  is  the  shadow  of  the 
forward-hastening  star  of  day."     Wolf  was  one  of  the  first  to  protest 
against  "  nebulous  "  definitions. 

2  Nigra  compares  the  changes  of  a  ballad  with  the  changes  of  a 
dialect ;   new  words  or  phrases  do  not  destroy  the  general  character 
of  a  dialect,  and  modern  phrases  or  turns  of  thought  make  nothing 
against  the  traditional   ballad.     Yet  another  parallel    between  the 
making  of  ballads  and  the  making  of  language  may  be  drawn  from 
the  reference   of    Schleicher  (Compendium,*  p.  641,  note)   to    that 
hesitation  felt  by  all  Aryan  languages  to  put  forth  stems  for  the 


xcviii  INTRODUCTION. 

strong,  rough,  these  "canticles  of  love  and  woe"  still 
speak  the  speech  of  a  mass,  still  feel  as  a  community 
feels,  and  touch  the  heart  not  as  a  whisper  of  private 
sympathy,  but  as  a  great  cry  of  delight  or  grief  from  the 
crowd.  They  are  alien  to  our  introspective  age.  How 
few  of  them,  too,  have  come  down  to  us,  and  how  broken 
and  baffled  is  the  story  which  they  tell  !  Whatever  the 
critical  view  of  its  origin,  all  lovers  of  the  ballad  will  join 
in  the  quaint  laments  of  Neocorus  1  for  the  vanished  lays 
of  old,  and  mourn  the  quae  supersunt  which  must  be 
written  upon  even  the  richest  of  our  collections. 

first  and  second  persons  of  the  pronoun,  "  as  indeed  in  many  tongues 
there  is  evident  shyness  to  name  the  /  and  the  thoit." 

1  "  Help  Gott,  wo  manige  leffliche  schone  Gesenge  an  Wort  uund 
Wisen,  ach  wo  vele,  sonderlich  der  olden  Leder,  ...  sin  under- 
gangen!"  Chronik,  ed.  Dahlmann,  I,  176. 


BALLADS. 


A    GEST   OF    ROBYN    MODE. 

1.  Lythe  and  listin,  gentilmen, 

That  be  of  frebore  blode  ; 
I  shall  you  tel  of  a  gode  yeman, 
His  name  was  Robyn  Hode. 

2.  Robyn  was  a  prude  outlaw, 

Whyles  he  walked  on  grounde  ; 
So  curteyse  an  outlaw  as  he  was  one 
Was  never  non  yfounde. 

3.  Robyn  stode  in  Bernesdale, 

And  lenyd  hym  to  a  tre ; 
And  bi  him  stode  Litell  Johnn, 
A  gode  yeman  was  he. 

4.  And  alsoo  dyd  gode  Scarlok, 

And  Much,  the  miller's  son  ; 
There  was  none  ynch  of  his  bodi 
But  it  was  worth  a  grome. 

5.  Than  bespake  Lytell  Johnn 

All  untoo  Robyn  Hode  : 
Maister,  and  ye  wolde  dyne  betyme 
It  wolde  doo  you  moche  gode. 


BALLADS. 

6.     Than  bespake  hym  gode  Robyn  : 

To  dyne  have  I  noo  lust, 
Till  that  I  have  som  bolde  baron, 
Or  som  unkouth  gest. 

7-     • 

That  may  pay  for  the  best, 

Or  some  knyght  or  som  squyer 

That  dwelleth  here  bi  west. 

8.  A  gode  maner  than  had  Robyn  ; 

In  londe  where  that  he  were, 
Every  day  or  he  wold  dyne 
Thre  messis  wolde  he  here. 

9.  The  one  in  the  worship  of  the  Fader, 

And  another  of  the  Holy  Gost, 
The  thirde  was  of  Our  dere  Lady 
That  he  loved  allther  moste. 

i  o.     Robyn  loved  Oure  dere  Lady ; 

For  dout  of  dydly  synne, 
Wolde  he  never  do  compani  harme 
That  any  woman  was  in. 

11.  '  Maistar,'  than  sayde  Lytil  Johnn, 

'  And  we  our  borde  shal  sprede, 
Tell  us  wheder  that  we  shall  go 
And  what  life  that  we  shall  lede. 

12.  'Where  we  shall  take,  where  we  shall  leve, 

Where  we  shall  abide  behynde  ; 
Where  we  shall  robbe,  where  we  shall  reve, 
Where  we  shall  bete  and  bynde.' 


BALLADS.  ; 

13.  '  Thereof  no  force,'  than  sayde  Robyn  ; 

'  We  shall  do  well  inowe  ; 
But  loke  ye  do  no  husbonde  harme 
That  tilleth  with  his  ploughe. 

1 4.  '  No  more  ye  shall  no  gode  yeman 

That  walketh  by  grene-wode  shawe  ; 
Ne  no  knyght  ne  no  squyer 
That  wol  be  a  gode  felawe. 

15.  'These  bisshoppes  and  these  archebishoppes, 

Ye  shall  them  bete  and  bynde ; 
The  hye  sherif  of  Notyngham, 
Hym  holde  ye  in  your  mynde.' 

1 6.  'This  worde  shalbe  holde,'  sayde  Lytell  Johnn, 

'  And  this  lesson  we  shall  lere ; 
It  is  fer  dayes  ;  God  sende  us  a  gest, 
That  we  were  at  our  dynere.' 

17.  '  Take  thy  gode  bowe  in  thy  honde.'  sayde  Robyn 

'  Late  Much  wende  with  the  ; 
And  so  shal  Willyam  Scarlok, 
And  no  man  abyde  with  me. 

18.  'And  walke  up  to  the  Saylis 

And  so  to  Watlinge  Strete, 
And  wayte  after  some  unkuth  gest, 
Up  chaunce  ye  may  them  mete. 

19.  '  Be  he  erle,  or  ani  baron, 

Abbot,  or  ani  knyght, 
Bringhe  hym  to  lodge  to  me ; 
His  dyner  shall  be  dight.' 


BALLADS. 

20.  They  wente  up  to  the  Saylis, 

These  yemen  all  three  ; 
They  loked  est,  they  loked  weest, 
They  myght  no  man  see. 

21.  But  as  they  loked  in  to  Bernysdale, 

Bi  a  derne  strete, 
Than  came  a  knyght  ridinghe  ; 
Full  sone  they  gan  hym  mete. 

22.  All  dreri  was  his  semblaunce, 

And  lytell  was  his  pryde ; 
His  one  fote  in  the  styrop  stode, 
That  othere  wavyd  beside. 

23.  His  hode  hanged  in  his  iyn  two ; 

He  rode  in  symple  aray ; 

A  soriar  man  than  he  was  one 

Rode  never  in  somer  day. 

24.  Litell  Johnn  was  full  curteyes, 

And  sette  hym  on  his  kne  : 
'  Welcom  be  ye,  gentyll  knyght, 
Welcom  ar  ye  to  me. 

25.  •  '  Welcom  be  thou  to  grene  wode, 

Hende  knyght  and  fre  ; 
My  maister  hath  abiden  you  fastinge, 
Syr,  al  these  oures  thre.' 

26.  '  Who  is  thy  maister  ? '  sayde  the  knyght ; 

Johnn  sayde,  '  Robyn  Hode' ; 
'  He  is  a  gode  yoman,'  sayde  the  knyght, 
'  Of  hym  I  have  herde  moche  gode. 


BALLADS. 

27.  'I  graunte,'  he  sayde,  '  with  you  to  wende, 

My  bretherne,  all  in  fere  ; 
My  purpos  was  to  have  dyned  to  day 
At  Blith  or  Dancastere.' 

28.  Furth  than  went  this  gentyl  knight, 

With  a  carefull  chere  ; 
The  teris  oute  of  his  iyen  ran, 
And  fell  downe  by  his  lere. 

29.  They  brought  him  to  the  lodge-dore ; 

Whan  Robyn  gan  hym  see, 
Full  curtesly  dyd  of  his  hode 
And  sette  hym  on  his  knee. 

30.  '  Welcome,  sir  knight,'  than  sayde  Robyn, 

'  Welcome  art  thou  to  me  ; 
I  have  abyden  you  fastinge,  sir, 
All  these  ouris  thre.' 

31.  Than  answered  the  gentyll  knight, 

With  wordes  fayre  and  fre  : 
'  God  the  save,  goode  Robyn, 
And  all  thy  fayre  meyne.' 

32.  They  wasshed  togeder  and  wyped  bothe, 

And  sette  to  theyr  dynere ; 
Brede  and  wyne  they  had  right  ynoughe, 
And  noumbles  of  the  dere. 

33.  Swannes  and  fessauntes  they  had  full  gode, 

And  foules  of  the  ryvere ; 
There  fayled  none  so  litell  a  birde 
That  ever  was  bred  on  bryre. 


BALLADS. 

34.  'Do  gladly,  sir  knight,'  sayde  Robyn ; 

'  Gramarcy,  sir,'  sayde  he ; 
'  Suche  a  dinere  had  I  nat 
Of  all  these  wekys  thre. 

35.  'If  I  come  ageyne,  Robyn, 

Here  by  thys  centre, 
As  gode  a  dyner  I  shall  the  make 
As  thou  haest  made  to  me.' 

36.  '  Gramarcy,  knyght,'  sayde  Robyn  ; 

'  My  dyner  whan  I  have, 
I  was  never  so  gredy,  by  dere  worthi  God, 
My  dyner  for  to  crave. 

37.  '  But  pay  or  ye  wende,'  sayde  Robyn  ; 

'  Me  thynketh  it  is  gode  ryght ; 
It  was  never  the  maner,  by  dere  worthi  God, 
A  yoman  to  pay  for  a  knyght.' 

38.  '  I  have  nought  in  my  coffers,'  saide  the  knyght, 

'  That  I  may  prefer  for  shame  ' : 
'  Litell  John,  go  loke,'  sayde  Robyn, 
'  Ne  lat  not  for  no  blame. 

39.  'Tel  me  truth,'  than  saide  Robyn, 

'  So  God  have  parte  of  the ' : 
'  I  have  no  more  but  ten  shelynges,'  sayde  the 

knyght, 
'  So  God  have  parte  of  me.' 

40.  '  If  thou  have  no  more,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  I  woll  nat  one  peny  ; 
And  yf  thou  have  nede  of  any  more, 
More  shall  I  lend  the. 


BALLADS. 

41.  'Go  nowe  furth,  Litell  Johnn, 

The  truth  tell  thou  me  ; 
If  there  be  no  more  but  ten  shelinges, 
No  peny  that  I  se.' 

42.  Lyttell  Johnn  sprede  downe  hys  mantell 

Full  fayre  upon  the  grounde, 
And  there  he  fonde  in  the  knyghtes  cofer 
But  even  halfe  a  pounde. 

43.  Littell  Johnn  let  it  lye  full  styll, 

And  went  to  hys  maysteer  full  lowe  ; 
'  What  tydynges,  Johnn  ? '  sayde  Robyn  ; 
'  Sir,  the  knyght  is  true  inowe.' 

44.  '  Fyll  of  the  best  wine,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  The  knyght  shall  begynne  ; 
Moche  wonder  thinketh  me 
Thy  clothynge  is  so  thinne. 

45.  'Tell  me  one  worde,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  And  counsel  shal  it  be  ; 
I  trowe  thou  wert  made  a  knyght  of  force, 
Or  ellys  of  yemanry. 

46.  '  Or  ellys  thou  hast  been  a  sori  husbande, 

And  lyved  in  stroke  and  strife  ; 
An  okerer,  or  ellis  a  lechoure,'  sayde  Robyn, 
'  Wyth  wronge  hast  led  thy  lyfe.' 

47.  '  I  am  none  of  those,'  sayde  the  knyght, 

'  By  God  that  made  me  ; 
An  hundred  wynter  here  before 
Mya  auncetres  knyghtes  have  be. 


BALLADS. 

48.  '  But  oft  it  hath  befal,  Robyn, 

A  man  hath  be  disgrate  ; 
But  God  that  sitteth  in  heven  above 
May  amende  his  state. 

49.  '  Withyn  this  two  yere,  Robyne,'  he  sayde, 

'  My  neghbours  well  it  knowe, 
Foure  hundred  pounde  of  gode  money 
Ful  well  than  myght  I  spende. 

50.  '  Nowe  have  I  no  gode,'  saide  the  knyght, 

'  God  hath  shapen  such  an  ende, 
But  my  chyldren  and  my  wyfe, 
Tyll  God  yt  may  amende.' 

51.  'In  what  maner,'  than  sayde  Robyn, 

'  Hast  thou  lorne  thy  rychesse  ? ' 
'  For  my  greate  foly,'  he  sayde, 
'  And  for  my  kyndenesse. 

52.  'I  hade  a  sone,  forsoth,  Robyn, 

That  shulde  have  ben  myn  ayre, 
Whanne  he  was  twenty  wynter  olde, 
In  felde  wolde  just  full  fayre. 

53.  '  He  slewe  a  knyght  of  Lancashire, 

And  a  squyer  bolde ; 
For  to  save  him  in  his  ryght 
My  godes  beth  sette  and  solde. 

54.  'My  londes  beth  sette  to  wedde,  Robyn, 

Untyll  a  certayn  day, 
To  a  ryche  abbot  here  besyde 
Of  Seynt  Mari  Abbey.' 


BALLADS. 

55.  'What  is  the  som? '  sayde  Robyn  ; 

'  Trouth  than  tell  thou  me ' ; 
'  Sir,'  he  sayde,  'foure  hundred  pounde  ; 
The  abbot  told  it  to  me.' 

56.  '  Nowe  and  thou  lese  thy  lond,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  What  shall  fall  of  the  ? ' 
'  Hastely  I  wol  me  buske  [sayd  the  knyght] 
Over  the  sake'  see, 

57.  'And  se  where  Criste  was  quyke  and  dede, 

On  the  mount  of  Calvere  ; 
Fare  wel,  frende,  and  have  gode  day ; 
It  may  not  better  be.' 

58.  Teris  fell  out  of  hys  eyen  two  ; 

He  wolde  have  gone  hys  way ; 
'  Farewel,  frendes,  and  have  gode  day, 
I  have  no  more  to  pay.' 

59.  '  Where  be  thy  frendes  ? '  sayde  Robyn  : 

'  Syr,  never  one  wol  me  knowe  ; 
While  I  was  ryche  ynowe  at  home 
Great  boste  than  wolde  they  blowe. 

60.  '  And  nowe  they  renne  away  fro  me, 

As  bestis  on  a  rowe  ; 
They  take  no  more  hede  of  me 
Thanne  they  me  never  sawe.' 

61.  For  ruthe  thanne  wept  Litell  Johnn, 

Scarlok  and  Much  in  fere  ; 
'  Fyl  of  the  best  wyne,'  sayde  Robyn, 
'  For  here  is  a  symple  chere. 


10  BALLADS. 

62.  '  Hast  thou  any  f rends,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  Thy  borowes  that  wyll  be  ? ' 
'  I  have  none,'  than  sayde  the  knyght, 
'  But  God  that  dyed  on  tree.' 

63.  '  Do  away  thy  japis,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  Thereof  wol  I  right  none ; 
Wenest  thou  I  wolde  have  God  to  borowe, 
Peter,  Poule,  or  Johnn  ? 

64.  '  Nay,  by  hym  that  made  me, 

And  shope  both  sonne  and  mone, 
Fynde  me  a  better  borowe,'  sayde  Robyn, 
'Or  money  getest  thou  none.' 

65.  'I  have  none  other,'  sayde  the  knyght, 

'  The  sothe  for  to  say, 
But  yf  yt  be  Our  dere  Lady ; 

She  fayled  me  never  or  thys  day.' 

66.  '  By  dere  worthy  God,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'To  seche  all  Englonde  thorowe, 
Yet  fonde  I  never  to  my  pay 
A  moche  better  borowe. 

67.  'Come  nowe  furth,  Litell  Johnn, 

And  go  to  my  tresoure, 
And  bringe  me  foure  hundered  pound, 
And  loke  well  tolde  it  be.' 

68.  Furth  than  went  Litell  Johnn, 

And  Scarlok  went  before  ; 
He  tolde  oute  four  hundred  pounde 
By  eight  and  twenty  score. 


BALLADS.  11 

69.  '  Is  thys  well  tolde  ? '  sayde  litell  Much  ; 

Johnn  sayde :    '  What  greveth  the  ? 
It  is  almus  to  helpe  a  gentyll  knyght 
That  is  fal  in  poverte. 

70.  '  Master,'  than  sayde  Lityll  John, 

'  His  clothinge  is  full  thynne  ; 
Ye  must  gyve  the  knight  a  lyveray, 
To  lappe  his  body  therein. 

71.  '  For  ye  have  scarlet  and  grene,  mayster. 

And  many  a  riche  aray  ; 
Ther  is  no  marchaunt  in  mery  Englond 
So  ryche,  I  dare  well  say.' 

72.  '  Take  hym  thre  yerdes  of  every  colour, 

And  loke  well  mete  that  it  be  ' ; 
Lytell  Johnn  toke  none  other  mesure 
But  his  bowe-tree. 

73.  And  at  every  handfull  that  he  met 

He  lept  over  fotes  three  ; 
'What  devylles  drapar,'  sayd  litell  Much, 
'  Thynkest  thou  for  to  be  ? ' 

74.  Scarlok  stode  full  stil  and  loughe, 

And  sayd,  '  By  God  Almyght, 

Johnn  may  gyve  hym  gode  mesure, 

For  it  costeth  hym  but  lyght.' 

75.  '  Mayster,'  than  said  Litell  Johnn 

All  unto  Robyn  Hode, 
'  Ye  must  give  the  knight  a  hors 
To  lede  home  al  this  gode.' 


12  BALLADS. 

76.  'Take  him  a  gray  coursar,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  And  a  saydle  newe  ; 
He  is  Oure  Ladye's  messangere  ; 
God  graunt  that  he  be  true.' 

77.  'And  a  gode  palfray,'  sayde  lytell  Much, 

'To  mayntene  hym  in  his  right '; 
'  And  a  peyre  of  botes,'  sayde  Scarlok, 
'  For  he  is  a  gentyll  knight.' 

78.  '  What  shalt  thou  gyve  hym,  Litell  John  ? '  [said 

Robyn  ;] 

'  Sir,  a  peyre  of  gilt  sporis  clene, 
To  pray  for  all  this  company ; 
God  bringe  hym  oute  of  tene.' 

79.  'Whan  shal  mi  day  be,'  said  the  knight, 

'  Sir,  and  your  wyll  be  ? ' 
'This  day  twelve  moneth,'  saide  Robyn, 
'  Under  this  grene-wode  tre. 

80.  'It  were  greate  shame,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  A  knight  alone  to  ryde, 
Withoute  squyre,  yoman,  or  page, 
To  walke  by  his  syde. 

8 1.  'I  shal  the  lende  Lilell  Johnn,  my  man, 

For  he  shalbe  thy  knave  ; 
In  a  yeman's  stede  he  may  the  stande, 
If  thou  greate  nede  have. 


BALLADS.  13 

THE  SECONDE  FYTTE. 

82.  Now  is  the  knight  gone  on  his  way; 

This  game  hym  thought  full  gode  ; 
Whanne  he  loked  on  Bernesdale 
He  blessyd  Robyn  Hode. 

83.  And  whanne  he  thought  on  Bernysdale, 

On  Scarlok,  Much  and  Johnn, 
He  blessyd  them  for  the  best  company 
That  ever  he  in  come. 

84.  Then  spake  that  gentyll  knyght, 

To  Lytel  Johan  gan  he  saye, 
'  To-morrowe  I  must  to  Yorke  toune 
To  Saynt  Mary  abbay. 

85.  '  And  to  the  abbot  of  that  place 

Foure  hundred  pounde  I  must  pay ; 
And  but  I  be  there  upon  this  nyght 
My  londe  is  lost  for  ay.' 

86.  The  abbot  sayd  to  his  covent, 

There  he  stode  on  grounde, 
'  This  day  twelfe  moneth  came  a  knyght 
And  borowed  foure  hondred  pounde. 

87.  ['  He  borowed  four  hondred  pounde] 

Upon  his  londe  and  fee ; 
But  he  come  this  ylke  day 
Disherited  shall  he  be.' 

88.  '  It  is  full  erely,'  sayd  the  pryoure, 

The  day  is  not  yet  ferre  gone ; 
I  had  lever  to  pay  an  hondred  pounde, 
And  lav  it  downe  anone. 


14  BALLADS. 

89.  '  The  knyght  is  ferre  beyonde  the  see, 

In  Englonde  is  his  ryght, 
And  suffreth  honger  and  colde 
And  many  a  sory  nyght. 

90.  '  It  were  grete  pyte,'  said  the  pryoure, 

'  So  to  have  his  londe  ; 
And  ye  be  so  lyght  of  your  consyence, 
Ye  do  to  hym  moch  wronge.' 

91.  'Thou  arte  ever  in  my  berde,'  sayd  the  abbot, 

'  By  God  and  Saynt  Rycharde  ' ; 
With  that  cam  in  a  fat-heded  monke, 
The  heygh  selerer. 

92.  '  He  is  dede  or  hanged,'  sayd  the  monke, 

'  By  God  that  bought  me  dere, 
And  we  shall  have  to  spende  in  this  place 
Foure  hondred  pounde  by  yere.' 

93.  The  abbot  and  the  hy  selerer 

Sterte  forthe  full  bolde, 
The  highe  justyce  of  Englonde 
The  abbot  there  dyde  holde. 

94.  The  hye  justyce  and  many  mo 

Had  taken  into  theyr  honde 
Holy  all  the  knyghtes  det, 

To  put  that  knyght  to  wronge. 

95.  They  demed  the  knyght  wonder  sore, 

The  abbot  and  his  meyne  : 
'  But  he  come  this  ylke  day 
Disherited  shall  he  be.' 


BALLADS.  15 

96.  '  He  wyll  not  come  yet,'  sayd  the  justyce, 

'  I  dare  well  undertake  '; 
But  in  sorowe  tyme  for  them  all 
The  knyght  came  to  the  gate. 

97.  Than  bespake  that  gentyll  knyght 

Untyll  his  meyne  : 
'  Now  put  on  your  symple  wedes 
That  ye  brought  fro  the  see.' 

98.  [They  put  on  their  symple  wedes,] 

They  came  to  the  gates  anone  ; 
The  porter  was  redy  hymselfe 
And  welcomed  them  everychone. 

99.  '  Welcome,  syr  knyght,'  sayd  the  porter, 

'  My  lorde  to  mete  is  he, 
And  so  is  many  a  gentyll  man, 
For  the  love  of  the.' 

[oo.     The  porter  swore  a  full  grete  othe  : 

'  By  God  that  made  me, 
Here  be  the  best  coresed  hors 
That  ever  yet  sawe  I  me. 

• 

EDI.     '  Lede  them  in  to  the  stable,'  he  sayd, 

1  That  eased  myght  they  be  ' ; 
'They  shall  not  come  therin,'  sayd  the  knyght, 
'  By  God  that  dyed  on  a  tre.' 

1 02.     Lordes  were  to  mete  isette 

In  that  abbotes  hall ; 

The  knyght  went  forth  and  kneled  downe, 
And  salued  them  grete  and  small. 


16  BALLADS. 

103.  'Do  gladly,  syr  abbot,'  sayd  the  knyght, 

'  I  am  come  to  holde  my  day ' : 
The  fyrst  word  that  the  abbot  spake, 
'  Hast  thou  brought  my  pay  ? ' 

104.  'Not  one  peny,'  sayd  the  knyght, 

'  By  God  that  maked  me  ' ; 
'  Thou  art  a  shrewed  dettour,'  sayd  the  abbot ; 
'  Syr  justyce,  drynke  to  me. 

105.  'What  doost  thou  here,'  sayd  the  abbot, 

'  But  thou  haddest  brought  thy  pay  ? ' 
'  For  God,'  than  sayed  the  knyght, 
'  To  pray  of  a  lenger  daye.' 

106.  'Thy  daye  is  broke,'  sayd  the  justyce, 

'  Londe  gettest  thou  none ' : 
'  Now,  good  syr  justyce,  be  my  frende 
And  fende  me  of  my  fone  ! ' 

107.  'I  am  holde  with  the  abbot,'  sayd  the  justyce, 

'  Both  with  cloth  and  fee  ' : 
'  Now,  good  syr  sheryf,  be  my  frende  ! ' 
'  Nay,  for  God,'  sayd  he. 

1 08.  '  Now,  good  syr  abbot,  be  my  frende, 

For  thy  curteyse, 

And  holde  my  londes  in  thy  honde 
Tyll  I  have  made  the  gree  ! 

109.  'And  I  wyll  be  thy  true  servaunte, 

And  trewely  serve  the, 
Tyll  ye  have  foure  hondred  pounde 
Of  money  good  and  free,' 


BALLADS.  17 

no.     The  abbot  sware  a  full  grete  othe, 

1  By  God  that  dyed  on  a  tree, 

Get  thy  londe  where  thou  may, 

For  thou  getest  none  of  me.' 

111.  '  By  dere  worthy  God,'  then  sayd  the  knyght, 

'That  all  this  worlde  wrought, 
But  I  have  my  londe  agayne, 
Full  dere  it  shall  be  bought. 

112.  '  God,  that  was  of  a  mayden  borne, 

Leve  us  well  to  spede  ! 
For  it  is  good  to  assay  a  frende 
Or  that  a  man  have  nede.' 

113.  The  abbot  lothely  on  hym  gan  loke, 

And  vylaynesly  hym  gan  call ; 
'Out,'  he  sayd,  'thou  false  knyght, 
Spede  the  out  of  my  hall ! ' 

114.  'Thou  lyest,'  then  sayd  the  gentyll  knyght, 

'  Abbot,  in  thy  hal ; 
False  knyght  was  I  never, 
By  God  that  made  us  all.' 

115.  Up  then  stode  that  gentyll  knyght, 

To  the  abbot  sayd  he, 
'  To  suffre  a  knyght  to  knele  so  longe, 
Thou  canst  no  curteysye. 

1 1 6.  'In  joustes  and  in  tournaments 

Full  ferre  than  have  I  be, 
And  put  myself  as  ferre  in  prees 
As  ony  that  ever  I  see.' 


18  BALLADS, 

117.  'What  wyll  ye  gyve  more,'  sayd  the  justyce, 

'  And  the  knyght  shall  make  a  releyse  ? 
And  elles  dare  I  safly  swere 

Ye  holde  never  your  londe  in  pees.' 

118.  'An  hondred  pounde,'  sayd  the  abbot; 

The  justice  sayd,  'Gyve  hym  two '; 
'Nay,  be  God,'  sayd  the  knyght, 
'  Ye  get  not  my  land  so. 

119.  'Though  ye  wolde  gyve  a  thousand  more, 

Yet  were  ye  never  the  nere ; 
Shal  there  never  be  myn  heyre 
Abbot,  justice  ne  frere.' 

120.  He  stert  hym  to  a  borde  anone, 

Tyll  a  table  rounde, 
And  there  he  shoke  oute  of  a  bagge 
Even  four  hundred  pound. 

121.  'Have  here  thi  golde,  sir  abbot,'  saide  the  knight, 

'  Which  that  thou  lentest  me  ; 
Had  thou  ben  curtes  at  my  comynge, 
I  would  have  rewarded  thee.' 

122.  The  abbot  sat  styll,  and  ete  no  more, 

For  all  his  ryall  fare ; 
He  cast  his  hede  on  his  shulder, 
And  fast  began  to  stare. 

123.  '  Take  me  my  golde  agayne,'  saide  the  abbot, 

'  Sir  justice,  that  I  toke  the '; 
Not  a  peni,'  said  the  justice, 
'  Bi  God,  that  dyed  on  tree,' 


BALLADS.  19 

124.  '  Sir  abbot,  and  ye  men  of  lawe, 

Now  have  I  holde  my  daye  ; 
Now  shall  I  have  my  londe  agayne, 
For  ought  that  you  can  saye.' 

125.  The  knyght  stert  out  of  the  dore, 

Awaye  was  all  his  care, 
And  on  he  put  his  good  clothynge 
The  other  he  lefte  there. 

126.  He  wente  hym  forth  full  mery  syngynge, 

As  men  have  told  in  tale ; 
His  lady  met  hym  at  the  gate, 
At  home  in  Verysdale. 

127.  'Welcome,  my  lorde,'  sayd  his  lady; 

'  Syr,  lost  is  all  your  good  ? ' 
'  Be  mery,  dame,'  sayd  the  knyght, 
'  And  pray  for  Robyn  Hode, 

128.  'That  ever  his  soule  be  in  blysse  : 

He  holpe  me  out  of  tene  ; 
Ne  had  be  his  kyndenesse, 
Beggers  had  we  bene. 

129.  'The  abbot  and  I  accorded  ben, 

He  is  served  of  his  pay ; 
The  god  yoman  lent  it  me 
As  I  cam  by  the  way.' 

130.  This  knight  than  dwelled  fayre  at  home, 

The  sothe  for  to  saye, 
Tyll  he  had  got  four  hundred  pound, 
Al  redy  for  to  pay. 


20  BALLADS. 

131.  He  purveyed  him  an  hundred  bowes, 

The  strynges  well  ydyght, 
An  hundred  shefe  of  arowes  gode, 
The  hedys  burneshed  full  bryght; 

132.  And  every  arowe  an  elle  longe, 

With  pecok  well  idyght, 
Inocked  all  with  whyte  silver ; 
It  was  a  semely  syght. 

133.  He  purveyed  him  an  hondreth  men, 

Well  harnessed  in  that  stede, 
And  hym  selfe  in  that  same  suite, 
And  clothed  in  whyte  and  rede. 

134.  He  bare  a  launsgay  in  his  honde, 

And  a  man  ledde  his  male, 
And  reden  with  a  lyght  songe 
Unto  Bernysdale. 

135.  [But  at  Wentbrydge]  there  was  a  wrastelyng, 

And  there  taryed  was  he, 
And  there  was  all  the  best  yemen 
Of  all  the  west  countree. 

136.  A  full  fayre  game  there  was  up  set, 

A  whyte  bulle  up  i-pyght, 
A  grete  courser,  with  sadle  and  brydil, 
With  golde  burnyssht  full  bryght. 

137.  A  payre  of  gloves,  a  rede  golde  rynge, 

A  pype  of  wyne,  in  fay ; 
What  man  that  bereth  hym  best  i-wys 
The  pryce  shall  bere  away. 


BALLADS.  21 

138.  There  was  a  yoman  in  that  place, 

And  best  worthy  was  he, 
And  for  he  was  ferre  and  frembde  bested, 
Slayne  he  shulde  have  be. 

139.  The  knight  had  ruthe  of  this  yoman, 

In  place  where  that  he  stode ; 
He  sayde  that  yoman  shulde  have  no'harme, 
For  love  of  Robyn  Hode. 

140.  The  knyght  pressed  in  to  the  place, 

An  hundreth  folowed  hym  free, 
With  bowes  bent  and  arowes  sharpe, 
For  to  shende  that  companye. 

141.  They  shulderd  all  and  made  hym  rome, 

To  wete  what  he  wolde  say ; 
He  toke  the  yeman  bi  the  hande, 
And  gave  hym  al  the  play. 

142.  He  gave  hym  five  marke  for  his  wyne, 

There  it  lay  on  the  molde, 
And  bad  it  shulde  be  set  a  broche, 
Drynke  who  so  wolde. 

143.  Thus  longe  taried  this  gentyll  knyght, 

Tyll  that  play  was  done  ; 
So  longe  abode  Robyn  fastinge 
Thre  houres  after  the  none. 


22  BALLADS. 

THE  THIRDE  FYTTE. 

144.  Lyth  and  lystyn,  gentilmen, 

All  that  nowe  be  here ; 

Of  Litell  Johnn,  that  was  the  knightes  man, 
Goode  myrth  ye  shall  here. 

145.  It  was  upon  a  mery  day 

That  yonge  men  wolde  go  shete ; 
Lytell  Johnn  fet  his  bowe  anone, 
And  sayde  he  wolde  them  mete. 

146.  Thre  tymes  Litell  Johnn  shet  aboute, 

And  alway  cleft  the  wande  ; 

The  proude  sherif  of  Notingham 

By  the  markes  gan  stande. 

147.  The  sherif  swore  a  full  greate  othe  : 

1  By  hym  that  dyede  on  a  tre, 
This  man  is  the  best  arschere 
That  ever  I  dyd  see. 

148.  '  Say  me  nowe,  wight  yonge  man, 

What  is  nowe  thy  name  ? 
In  what  countre  were  thou  borne, 
And  where  is  thy  wonynge  wane  ? ' 

149.  'In  Holdernes,  sir,  I  was  borne, 

I-wys  al  of  my  dame  ; 
Men  cal  me  Reynolde  Grenelef 
Whan  I  am  at  home.' 

150.  '  Sey  me,  Reynolde  Grenelefe, 

Wolde  thou  dwell  with  me  ? 
And  every  yere  I  woll  the  gyve 
Twenty  marke  to  thy  fee.' 


BALLADS.  23 

151.  'I  have  a  maister,'  sayde  Litell  Johnn, 

'  A  curteys  knight  is  he  ; 
May  ye  leve  gete  of  hym, 
The  better  may  it  be.' 

152.  The  sherif  gate  Litell  John 

Twelve  moneths  of  the  knight ; 
Therefore  he  gave  him  right  anone 
A  gode  hors  and  a  wight. 

153.  Nowe  is  Litell  John  the  sherifes  man, 

God  lende  us  well  to  spede  ! 
But  alwey  thought  Lytell  John 
To  quyte  hym  wele  his  mede. 

154.  'Nowe  so  God  me  helpe,'  sayde  Litell  John, 

'And  by  my  true  leutye, 
I  shall  be  the  worst  servaunt  to  hym 
That  ever  yet  had  he.' 

155.  It  fell  upon  a  Wednesday 

The  sherif  on  huntynge  was  gone, 
And  Litel  John  lay  in  his  bed, 
And  was  foriete  at  home. 

156.  Therfore  he  was  fastinge 

Til  it  was  past  the  none ; 
'  Gode  sir  stuarde,  I  pray  to  the, 

Gyve  me  my  dynere,'  saide  Litell  John. 

157.  '  It  is  to  longe  for  Grenelefe 

Fastinge  thus  for  to  be  ; 
Therfor  I  pray  the,  sir  stuarde, 
Mi  dyner  gif  thou  me.' 


24  BALLADS. 

158.  '  Shalt  thou  never  etc  ne  drynke,'  saide  the  stuarde, 

'  Tyll  my  lorde  be  come  to  towne  : ' 
'  I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  saide  Litell  John, 
'  I  had  lever  to  crake  thy  crowne.' 

159.  The  boteler  was  full  uncurteys, 

There  he  stode  on  flore  ; 
He  start  to  the  botery 
And  shet  fast  the  dore. 

1 60.  Lytell  Johnn  gave  the  boteler  suche  a  tap 

His  backe  went  nere  in  two  ; 
Though  he  liveth  an  hundred  wynter, 
The  wors  he  still  shall  goe. 

161.  He  sporned  the  dore  with  his  fote  ; 

It  went  open  wel  and  fyne  ; 
And  there  he  made  large  lyveray, 
Bothe  of  ale  and  of  wyne. 

162.  '  Sith  ye  wol  nat  dyne,'  sayde  Litell  John, 

'  I  shall  gyve  you  to  drinke  ; 
And  though  ye  lyve  an  hundred  wynter, 
On  Lytel  Johnn  ye  shall  thinke.' 

163.  Litell  John  ete,  and  Litel  John  drank, 

The  while  that  he  wolde  ; 
The  sherife  had  in  his  kechyn  a  coke, 
A  stoute  man  and  a  bolde. 

164.  '  I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  saide  the  coke, 

'  Thou  arte  a  shrewde  hyne 
In  ani  householde  for  to  dwel, 
For  to  aske  thus  to  dyne.' 


BALLADS.  25 

165.  And  there  he  lent  Litell  John 

Gode  strokis  thre ; 

'  I  make  myn  avowe,'  sayde  Lytell  John, 
'  These  strokis  lyked  well  me. 

1 66.  '  Thou  arte  a  bolde  man  and  a  hardy, 

And  so  thinketh  me  ; 
And  or  I  pas  fro  this  place 
Assayed  better  shalt  thou  be,' 

167.  Lytell  Johnn  drew  a  ful  gode  sworde, 

The  coke  toke  another  in  hande ; 
They  thought  no  thynge  for  to  fle, 
But  stifly  for  to  stande. 

1 68.  There  they  f aught  sore  togedere 

Two  myle  way  and  more  ; 
Myght  neyther  other  harme  done, 
The  mountnaunce  of  an  owre. 

169.  'I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayde  Litell  Johnn, 

'  And  by  my  true  lewte  ; 
Thou  art  one  of  the  best  sworde-men 
That  ever  yit  sawe  I  me. 

170.  '  Cowdest  thou  shore  as  well  in  a  bowe, 

To  grene  wode  thou  shuldest  with  me, 
And  two  times  in  the  yere  thy  clothinge 
Chaunged  shulde  be  ; 

171.  '  And  every  yere  of  Robyn  Hode 

Twenty  merke  to  thy  fe  : ' 
'  Put  up  thy  swerde,'  saide  the  coke, 
'  And  felowes  woll  we  be.' 


26  BALLADS. 

172.  Thanne  he  fet  to  Lytell  Johnn 

The  nowmbles  of  a  do, 
Gode  brede  and  full  gode  wyne ; 
They  ete  and  drank  theretoo. 

173.  And  when  they  had  dronkyn  well, 

Theyre  trouthes  togeder  they  plight 
That  they  wolde  be  with  Robyn 
That  ylke  same  nyght. 

174.  They  dyd  them  to  the  tresoure-hows, 

As  fast  as  they  myght  gone  ; 
The  lokkes,  that  were  of  full  gode  stele, 
They  brake  them  everichone, 

175.  They  toke  away  the  silver  vessell, 

And  all  that  thei  might  get ; 
Pecis,  masars,  ne  sponis, 
Wolde  thei  not  forget. 

176.  Also  they  toke  the  gode  pens, 

Thre  hundred  pounde  and  more-, 
And  did  them  streyte  to  Robyn  Mode, 
Under  the  grene  wode  hore. 

177.  '  God  the  save,  my  dere  mayster, 

And  Criste  the  save  and  se  ! ' 
And  thanne  sayde  Robyn  to  Litell  Johnn, 
'  Welcome  myght  thou  be. 

178.  '  Also  be  that  fayre  yeman 

Thou  bryngest  there  with  the  ; 
What  tydynges  fro  Notyngham? 
Lytill  Johnn,  tell  thou  me.' 


BALLADS.  27 

179.  'Well  the  gretith  the  proude  sheryf, 

And  sendeth  the  here  by  me 
His  coke  and  his  silver  vessell, 

And  thre  hundred  pounde  and  thre.' 

1 80.  '  I  make  myne  avowe  to  God,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'And  to  the  Trenyte, 
It  was  never  by  his  gode  wyll 
This  gode  is  come  to  me.' 

181.  Lytyll  Johnn  there  hym  bethought 

On  a  shrewde  wyle  ; 
Fyve  myle  in  the  forest  he  ran, 
Hym  happed  all  his  wyll. 

182.  Than  he  met  the  proude  sheref, 

Huntynge  with  houndes  and  home ; 
Lytell  Johnn  coude  of  curtesye, 
And  knelyd  hym  beforne. 

183.  'God  the  save,  my  dere  mayster, 

And  Criste  the  save  and  se  ! ' 
'  Reynolde  Grenelefe,'  sayde  the  shyref, 
'Where  hast  thou  nowe  be? ' 

184.  '  I  have  be  in  this  forest ; 

A  fayre  syght  can  I  se ; 
It  was  one  of  the  fayrest  syghtes 
That  ever  yet  sawe  I  me. 

185.  'Yonder  I  sawe  a  ryght  fayre  harte, 

His  coloure  is  of  grene  ; 
Seven  score  of  dere  upon  a  herde 
Be  with  hym  all  bydene. 


28  BALLADS. 

186.  '  Their  tyndes  are  so  sharp,  maister, 

Of  sexty,  and  well  mo, 
That  I  durst  not  shote  for  drede, 
Lest  they  wolde  me  slo.' 

187.  'I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayde  the  shyref, 

'  That  syght  wolde  I  fayne  se  : ' 
'  Buske  you  thyderwarde,  mi  dere  mayster, 
Anone,  and  wende  with  me.' 

1 88.  The  sherif  rode,  and  Litell  Johnn 

Of  fote  he  was  full  smerte, 
And  whane  they  came  before  Robyn, 
1  Lo,  here  is  the  mayster-herte.' 

189.  Still  stode  the  proude  sherief, 

A  sory  man  was  he ; 
f  Wo  the  worthe,  Raynolde  Grenelefe, 
Thou  hast  betrayed  me.' 

190.  '  I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayde  Litell  Johnn, 

'  Mayster,  ye  be  to  blame  ; 
I  was  mysserved  of  my  dynere 
When  I  was  with  you  at  home.' 

191.  Sone  he  was  to  souper  sette, 

And  served  with  silver  white, 
And  when  the  sherif  sawe  his  vessell, 
For  sorowe  he  myght  nat  ete. 

192.  '  Make  glad  chere,'  sayde  Robyn  Hode, 

'  Sherif,  for  charite, 
And  for  the  love  of  Litill  Johnn 
Thy  lyfe  I  graunt  to  the.' 


BALLADS.  29 

193.  Whan  they  had  souped  well,  . 

The  day  was  al  gone  ; 
Robyn  commaunded  Litell  Johnn 
To  drawe  of  his  hose  and  shone ; 

194.  His  kirtell,  and  his  cote  a  pye, 

That  was  fured  well  and  fine. 
And  toke  hym  a  grene  mantel, 
To  lap  his  body  therein. 

195.  Robyn  commaundyd  his  wight  yonge  men, 

Under  the  grene  wode  tree, 
They  shulde  lye  in  that  same  sute 
That  the  sherif  myght  them  see. 

196.  All  nyght  lay  the  proude  sherif 

In  his  breche  and  in  his  schert ; 
No  wonder  it  was,  in  grene  wode, 
Though  his  sydes-  gan  to  smerte. 

197.  '  Make  glad  chere,'  sayde  Robyn  Hode, 

'  Sheref,  for  charite  ; 
For  this  is  our  ordre  i-wys 
Under  the  grene- wode  tree.' 

198.  '  This  is  harder  order,'  sayde  the  sherief, 

'  Than  any  ankir  or  frere  ; 
For  all  the  golde  in  mery  Englonde 
I  wolde  nat  longe  dwell  her.' 

199.  'All  this  twelve  monthes,'  sayde  Robin, 

'  Thou  shalt  dwell  with  me  ; 
I  shall  the  teche,  proude  sherif, 
An  outlawe  for  to  be.' 


30  BALLADS. 

200.  'Or-I  here  another  nyght  lye,'  sayde  the  sherif, 

'  Robyn,  nowe  pray  I  the, 
Smyte  of  mijn  hede  rather  to-morowe, 
And  I  forgyve  it  the. 

201.  '  Lat  me  go,'  than  sayde  the  sherif, 

'  For  saynte  charite, 
And  I  woll  be  the  best  frende 
That  ever  yet  had  ye.' 

202.  '  Thou  shalt  swere  me  an  othe,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  On  my  bright  bronde  ; 
Shalt  thou  never  awayte  me  scathe 
By  water  ne  by  lande. 

203.  '  And  if  thou  fynde  any  of  my  men, 

By  nyght  or  by  day, 
Upon  thyn  othe  thou  shalt  swere 
To  helpe  them  that  thou  may.' 

204.  Nowe  hathe  the  sherif  sworne  his  othe, 

And  home  he  began  to  gone ; 
He  was  as  full  of  grene  wode 
As  ever  was  hepe  of  stone. 


BALLADS.  31 

THE  FOURTH  FYTTE. 

205.  The  sherif  dwelled  in  Notingham ; 

He  was  fayne  he  was  agone ; 
And  Robyn  and  his  mery  men 
Went  to  wode  anone. 

206.  'Go  we  to  dyner,'  sayde  Littell  Johnn ; 

Robyn  Hode  sayde,  '  Nay ; 
For  I  drede  Our  Lady  be  wroth  with  me, 
For  she  sent  me  nat  my  pay.' 

207.  '  Have  no  doute,  maister,'  sayde  Litell  Johnn  ; 

'  Yet  is  not  the  sonne  at  rest ; 
For  I  dare  say,  and  savely  swere, 
The  knight  is  true  and  truste.' 

208.  '  Take  thy  bowe  in  thy  hande,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  Late  Much  wende  with  the, 
And  so  shal  Wyllyam  Scarlok, 
And  no  man  abyde  with  me. 

209.  '  And  walke  up  under  the  Sayles, 

And  to  Watlynge-strete, 
And  wayte  after  some  unketh  gest ; 
Up-chaunce  ye  may  them  mete. 

210.  '  Whether  he  be  messengere, 

Or  a  man  that  myrthes  can, 
Of  my  good  he  shall  have  some, 
Yf  he  be  a  pore  man.' 

211.  Forth  then  stert  Lytel  Johan, 

Half  in  tray  and  tene, 
And  gyrde  hym  with  a  full  good  swerde, 
Under  a  mantel  of  grene. 


32  BALLADS. 

212.  They  went  up  to  the  Sayles, 

These  yemen  all  thre  ; 
They  loked  est,  they  loked  west, 
They  myght  no  man  se. 

213.  But  as  they  loked  in  Bernysdale, 

By  the  hye  waye, 

Than  were  they  ware  of  two  blacke  monkes, 
Eche  on  a  good  palferay. 

214.  Then  bespake  Lytell  Johan, 

To  Much  he  gan  say, 
'  I  dare  lay  my  lyfe  to  wedde, 

These  monkes  have  brought  our  pay. 

215.  '  Make  glad  chere,'  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  And  frese  our  bowes  of  ewe, 
And  loke  your  hertes  be  seker  and  sad. 
Your  strynges  trusty  and  trewe. 

216.  'The  monke  hath  two  and  fifty  men, 

And  seven  somers  full  stronge  ; 
There  rydeth  no  bysshop  in  this  londe 
So  ryally,  I  understond. 

217.  '  Brethern,'  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  Here  are  no  more  but  we  thre  ; 
But  we  brynge  them  to  dyner, 
Our  mayster  dare  we  not  se. 

218.  '  Bende  your  bowes,'  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  Make  all  yon  prese  to  stonde  ; 
The  formost  monke,  his  lyfe  and  his  deth 
Is  closed  in  my  honde. 


BALLADS.  33 

219.  'Abyde,  chorle  monke,'  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  No  ferther  that  thou  gone  ; 
Yf  thou  doost,  by  dere  worthy  God, 
Thy  deth  is  in  my  honde. 

220.  '  And  evyll  thryfte  on  thy  hede,'  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  Ryght  under  thy  hattes  bonde, 
For  thou  hast  made  our  mayster  wroth, 
He  is  fastynge  so  longe.' 

221.  'Who  is  your  mayster?'  sayd  the  monke, 

Lytell  Johan  sayd,  Robyn  Hode  ; 
'  He  is  a  stronge  thefe,'  sayd  the  monke, 
'  Of  hym  herd  I  never  good.' 

222.  'Thou  lyest,'  than  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  And  that  shall  rewe  the ; 
He  is  a  yeman  of  the  forest, 
To  dyne  he  hath  bode  the.' 

223.  Much  was  redy  with  a  bolte, 

Redly  and  anone, 

He  set  the  monke  to-fore  the  brest, 
To  the  grounde  that  he  can  gone. 

224.  Of  two  and  fyfty  wyght  yonge  yemen 

There  abode  not  one, 
Saf  a  lytell  page  and  a  grome, 

To  lede  the  somers  with  Lytel  Johan. 

225.  They  brought  the  monke  to  the  lodge-dore, 

Whether  he  were  loth  or  lefe, 
For  to  speke  with  Robyn  Hode, 
Maugre  in  theyr  tethe. 


34  BALLADS. 

226.  Robyn  dyde  a  downe  his  hode, 

The  monke  whan  that  he  se  ; 
The  monke  was  not  so  curteyse, 
His  hode  then  let  he  be. 

227.  '  He  is  a  chorle,  mayster,  by  dere  worthy  God, 

Than  sayd  Lytell  Johan  : 
'  Thereof  no  force,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  For  curteysy  can  he  none. 

228.  '  How  many  men,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Had  this  monke,  Johan  ? ' 
'  Fyfty  and  two  whan  that  we  met, 
But  many  of  them  be  gone.' 

229.  '  Let  blowe  a  home,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  That  felaushyp  may  us  knowe  ; ' 
Seven  score  of  wyght  yemen, 
Came  pryckynge  on  a  rowe. 

230.  And  everych  of  them  a  good  mantell 

Of  scarlet  and  of  raye  ; 
All  they  came  to  good  Robyn, 
To  wyte  what  he  wolde  say. 

231.  They  made  the  monke  to  wasshe  and  wype, 

And  syt  at  his  denere, 
Robyn  Hode  and  Lytell  Johan 
They  served  him  both  in-fere. 

232.  '  Do  gladly,  monke,'  sayd  Robyn. 

'Gramercy,  syr,'  sayd  he. 
'  Where  is  your  abbay,  whan  ye  are  at  home, 
And  who  is  your  avowe  ? ' 


BALLADS.  35 

233.  '  Saynt  Mary  abbay,'  sayd  the  monke, 

'  Though  I  be  symple  here.' 
'  In  what  offyce  ? '  said  Robyn  : 
'  Syr,  the  hye  selerer.' 

234.  '  Ye  be  the  more  welcome,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  So  ever  mote  I  the  : 
Fyll  of  the  best  wyne,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  This  monke  shall  drynke  to  me. 

235.  '  But  I  have  grete  mervayle,'  sayd  Robyn, 

Of  all  this  longe  day ; 
I  drede  Our  Lady  be  wroth  with  me, 
She  sent  me  not  my  pay.' 

236.  '  Have  no  doute,  mayster,'  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  Ye  have  no  nede,  I  saye  ; 
This  monke  hath  brought  it,  I  dare  well  swere, 
For  he  is  of  her  abbay.' 

237.  'And  she  was  a  borowe,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Betwene  a  knyght  and  me, 
Of  a  lytell  money  that  I  hym  lent, 
Under  the  grene-wode  tree. 

238.  'And  yf  thou  hast  that  sylver  ibrought, 

I  pray  the  let  me  se  ; 
And  I  shall  helpe  the  eftsones, 
Yf  thou  have  nede  to  me.' 

239.  The  monke  swore  a  full  grete  othe, 

With  a  sory  chere, 

'  Of  the  borowehode  thou  spekest  to  me, 
Herde  I  never  ere.' 


36  .         BALLADS. 

240.  'I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Monke,  thou  art  to  blame ; 
For  God  is  holde  a  ryghtwys  man, 
And  so  is  his  dame. 

241.  '  Thou  toldest  with  thyn  owne  tonge, 

Thou  may  not  say  nay, 
How  thou  arte  her  servaunt, 
And  servest  her  every  day. 

242.  'And  thou  art  made  her  messengere, 

My  money  for  to  pay  ; 
Therefore  I  cun  the  more  thanke 
Thou  arte  come  at  thy  day. 

243.  '  What  is  in  your  cofers  ? '  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Trewe  than  tell  thou  me  : ' 
'  Syr,'  he  sayd,  '  twenty  marke, 
Al  so  mote  I  the.' 

244.  '  Yf  there  be  no  more,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  I  wyll  not  one  peny ; 
Yf  thou  hast  myster  of  ony  more, 
Syr,  more  I  shall  lende  to  the. 

245.  'And  yf  I  fynde  more,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  I-wys  thou  shalte  it  for  gone  ; 
For  of  thy  spendynge-sylver,  monke, 
Thereof  wyll  I  ryght  none. 

246.  '  Go  nowe  forthe,  Lytell  Johan, 

And  the  trouth  tell  thou  me ; 
If  there  be  no  more  but  twenty  marke, 
No  peny  that  I  se.' 


BALLADS.  37 

247.  Lytell  Johan  spred  his  mantell  downe, 

As  he  had  done  before, 
And  he  iolde  out  of  the  monkes  male 
Eyght  hondred  pounde  and  more. 

248.  Lytell  Johan  let  it  lye  full  styll, 

And  went  to  his  mayster  in  hast ; 
'  Syr,'  he  sayd,  'the  monke  is  trewe  ynowe, 
Our  Lady  hath  doubled  your  cast.' 

249.  'I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayd  Robyn  — 

'  Monke,  what  tolde  I  the  ?  — 
Our  Lady  is  the  trewest  woman 
That  ever  yet  founde  I  me. 

250.  'By  dere  worthy  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  To  seche  all  Englond  thorowe, 
Yet  founde  I  never  to  my  pay 
A  moche  better  borowe. 

251.  '  Fyll  of  the  best  wyne,  and  do  hym  drynke,'  sayd 

Robyn, 

'  And  grete  well  thy  lady  hende, 
And  yf  she  have  nede  to  Robyn  Hode, 
A  frende  she  shall  hym  fynde. 

252.  'And  yf  she  nedeth  ony  more  sylver, 

Come  thou  agayne  to  me, 
And,  by  this  token  she  hath  me  sent, 
She  shall  have  such  thre.' 

253.  The  monke  was  goynge  to  London  ward, 

There  to  hold  grete  mote, 
The  knyght  that  rode  so  hye  on  hors, 
To  brynge  hym  under  fote. 


38  BALLADS. 

254.  'Whether  be  ye  away?'  sayd  Robyn  : 

'  Syr,  to  maners  in  this  londe, 
Too  reken  with  our  reves, 

That  have  done  moch  wronge.' 

255.  'Come  now  forth,  Lytell  Johan, 

And  harken  to  my  tale ; 
A  better  yemen  I  knowe  none, 
To  seke  a  monkes  male.' 

256.  '  How  moch  is  in  yonder  other  corser  ?  '  sayd 

Robyn,  * 

'  The  soth  must  we  see  : ' 
By  Our  Lady,'  than  sayd  the  monke, 
'  That  were  no  curteysye, 

257.  'To  bydde  a  man  to  dyner, 

And  syth  hym  bete  and  bynde.' 
'  It  is  our  olde  maner,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  To  leve  but  lytell  behynde.' 

258.  The  monke  toke  the  hors  with  spore, 

No  lenger  wolde  he  abyde  : 
'Aske  to  drynke,'  than  sayd  Robyn, 
'  Or  that  ye  forther  ryde.' 

259.  '  Nay,  for  God,'  than  sayd  the  monke, 

'  Me  reweth  I  cam  so  nere ; 
For  better  chepe  I  myght  have  dyned 
In  Blythe  or  in  Dankestere.' 

260.  'Grete  well  your  abbot,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  And  your  pryour,  I  you  pray, 
And  byd  hym  send  me  such  a  monke 
To  dyner  every  day.' 


BALLADS.  39 

261.  Now  lete  we  that  monke  be  styll, 

And  speke  we  of  that  knyght : 
Yet  he  came  to  holde  his  day, 
Whyle  that  it  was  lyght. 

262.  He  dyde  him  streyt  to  Bernysdale, 

Under  the  grene-wode  tre, 
And  he  founde  there  Robyn  Hode, 
And  all  his  mery  meyne. 

263.  The  knyght  lyght  doune  of  his  good  palfray ; 

Robyn  whan  he  gan  see, 
So  curteysly  he  dyde  adoune  his  hode, 
And  set  hym  on  his  knee. 

264.  'God  the  save,  Robyn  Hode, 

And  all  this  company  : ' 
'  Welcome  be  thou,  gentyll  knyght, 
And  ryght  welcome  to  me.' 

265.  Than  bespake  hym  Robyn  Hode, 

To  that  knyght  so  fre  . 
What  nede  dryveth  the  to  grene-wode  ? 
I  praye  the,  syr  knyght,  tell  me. 

266.  'And  welcome  be  thou,  gentyll  knyght, 

Why  hast  thou  be  so  longe  ? ' 
'  For  the  abbot  and  the  hye  iustyce 
Wolde  have  had  my  londe.' 

267.  '  Hast  thou  thy  londe  agayne  ? '  sayd  Robyn  ; 

'  Treuth  than  tell  thou  me  : ' 
'Ye,  for  God,'  sayd  the  knyght, 
'  And  that  thanke  I  God  and  the. 


40  BALLADS. 

268.  '  But  take  no  grefe,  that  I  have  be  so  longe  ; 

I  came  by  a  wrastelynge, 
And  there  I  holpe  a  pore  yeman, 
With  wronge  was  put  behynde.' 

269.  '  Nay,  for  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Syr  knyght,  that  thanke  I  the  ; 
What  man  that  helpeth  a  good  yeman, 
His  frende  than  wyll  I  be.' 

270.  '  Have  here  foure  hondred  pounde,'  sayd  the 

knyght, 

'  The  whiche  ye  lent  to  me ; 
And  here  is  also  twenty  marke 
For  your  curteysy.' 

271.  'Nay,  for  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Thou  broke  it  well  for  ay ; 
For  Our  Lady,  by  her  hye  selerer, 
Hath  sent  to  me  my  pay. 

272.  'And  yf  I  toke  it  i-twyse, 

A  shame  it  were  to  me ; 
But  trewely,  gentyll  knyght, 
Welcome  arte  thou  to  me.' 

273.  Whan  Robyn  had  tolde  his  tale, 

He  leugh  and  made  good  chere  : 
'  By  my  trouthe,'  then  sayd  the  knyght, 
'  Your  money  is  redy  here.' 

274.  '  Broke  it  well,'  said  Robyn, 

'  Thou  gentyll  knyght  so  fre  ; 
And  welcome  be  thou,  gentyll  knyght, 
Under  my  trystell-tre. 


BALLADS.  41 

275.  '  But  what  shall  these  bowes  do  ? '  sayd  Robyn, 

'  And  these  arowes  if edred  f re  ? ' 
'  By  God,'  than  sayd  the  knyght, 
'  A  pore  present  to  the.' 

276.  '  Come  now  forth,  Lytell  Johan, 

And  go  to  my  treasure, 

And  brynge  me  there  foure  hondred  pounde ; 
The  monke  over-tolde  it  me. 

277.  '  Have  here  foure  hondred  pounde, 

Thou  gentyll  knyght  and  trewe, 

And  bye  thee  hors  and  harnes  good, 

And  gylte  thy  spores  all  newe. 

278.  '  And  yf  thou  fayle  ony  spendynge, 

Com  to  Robyn  Hode, 
And  by  my  trouth  thou  shalt  none  fayle, 
The  whyles  I  have  any  good. 

279.  'And  broke  well  thy  foure  hondred  pound, 

Whiche  I  lent  to  the, 
And  make  thy  selfe  no  more  so  bare, 
By  the  counsell  of  me.' 

280.  Thus  than  holpe  hym  good  Robyn, 

The  knyght  all  of  his  care  : 
God,  that  syt  in  heven  hye, 
Graunte  us  well  to  fare ! 


42  BALLADS. 

THE  FYFTH  FYTTE. 

281.  Now  hath  the  knyght  his  leve  i-take, 

And  wente  hym  on  his  way ; 
Robyn  Hode  and  his  mery  men 
Dwelled  styll  full  many  a  day. 

282.  Lyth  and  lysten,  gentil  men, 

And  herken  what  I  shall  say, 
How  the  proud  sheryfe  of  Notyngham 
Dyde  crye  a  full  fayre  play ; 

283.  That  all  the  best  archers  of  the  north 

Sholde  come  upon  a  day, 
And  he  that  shoteth  allther  best 
The  game  shall  bere  away. 

284.  He  that  shoteth  allther  best, 

Furthest  fayre  and  lowe, 
At  a  payre  of  fynly  buttes, 
Under  the  grene  wode  shawe, 

285.  A  ryght  good  arowe  he  shall  have, 

The  shaft  of  sylver  whyte, 
The  hede  and  feders  of  ryche  rede  golde, 
In  Englond  is  none  lyke. 

286.  This  than  herde  good  Robyn, 

Under  his  trystell-tre  : 
'  Make  you  redy,  ye  wyght  yonge  men  ; 
That  shotynge  wyll  I  se. 

287.  'Buske  you,  my  mery  yonge  men  ; 

Ye  shall  go  with  me ; 
And  I  wyll  wete  the  shryves  fayth, 
Trewe  and  yf  he  be.' 


BALLADS.  43 

288.  Whan  they  had  theyr  bowes  i-bent, 

Theyr  takles  fedred  fre, 
Seven  score  of  wyght  yonge  men 
Stode  by  Robyns  kne. 

289.  Whan  they  cam  to  Notyngham, 

The  buttes  were  fayre  and  longe ; 
Many  was  the  bolde  archere 
That  shot  with  bowes  stronge. 

290.  '  There  shall  but  syx  shote  with  me ; 

The  other  shal  kepe  my  he[ve]de, 
And  stande  with  good  bowes  bent, 
That  I  be  not  desceyved.' 

291.  The  fourth  outlawe  his  bowe  gan  bende, 

And  that  was  Robyn  Hode, 
And  that  behelde  the  proud  sheryfe, 
All  by  the  but  he  stode. 

292.  Thrye's  Robyn  shot  about, 

And  alway  he  slist  the  wand. 
And  so  dyde  good  Gylberte 
With  the  whyte  hande. 

293.  Lytell  Johan  and  good  Scatheloke 

Were  archers  good  and  fre  ; 
Lytell  Much  and  good  Reynolde, 
The  worste  wolde  they  not  be. 

294.  Whan  they  had  shot  aboute, 

These  archours  fayre  and  good, 
Evermore  was  the  best, 
For  soth,  Robyn  Hode. 


44  BALLADS. 

295.  Hym  was  delyvered  the  good  arowe, 

For  best  worthy  was  he  ; 

He  toke  the  yeft  so  curteysly, 

To  grene-wode  wolde  he. 

296.  They  cryed  out  on  Robyn  Hode, 

And  grete  homes  gan  they  blowe  : 
'Wo  worth  the,  treason  ! '  sayd  Robyn, 
'  Full  evyl  thou  art  to  knowe. 

297.  'And  wo  be  thou  !  thou  proude  sheryf, 

Thus  gladdynge  thy  gest ; 
Other  wyse  thou  behote  me 
In  yonder  wylde  forest. 

298.  '  But  had  I  the  in  grene-wode, 

Under  my  trystell-tre, 
Thou  sholdest  leve  me  a  better  wedde 
Than  thy  trewe  lewte'.' 

299.  Full  many  a  bowe  there  was  bent, 

And  arowes  let  they  glyde  ; 
Many  a  kyrtell  there  was  rent, 
And  hurt  many  a  syde. 

300.  The  outlawes  shot  was  so  stronge 

That  no  man  myght  them  dryve, 
And  the  proud  sheryfes  men, 
They  fled  away  full  blyve. 

301.  Robyn  sawe  the  busshement  to-broke, 

In  grene  wode  he  wolde  have  be ; 
Many  an  arowe  there  was  shot 
Amonge  that  company. 


BALLADS.  45 

302.  Lytell  Johan  was  hurte  full  sore, 

With  an  arowe  in  his  kne, 
That  he  myght  neyther  go  nor  ryde  ; 
It  was  full  grete  pyte. 

303.  '  Mayster,'  then  sayd  Lytell  Johan, 

'  If  ever  thou  lovedst  me, 
And  for  that  ylke  lordes  love 
That  dyed  upon  a  tre, 

304.  '  And  for  the  medes  of  my  servyce, 

That  I  have  served  the, 
Lete  never  the  proude  sheryf 
Alyve  now  fynde  me. 

305.  'But  take  out  thy  browne  swerde, 

And  smyte  all  of  my  hede, 
And  gyve  me  woundes  depe  and  wyde ; 
No  lyfe  on  me  be  lefte.' 

306.  '  I  wolde  not  that,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'Johan,  that  thou  were  slawe, 
For  all  the  golde  in  mery  Englonde, 
Though  it  lay  now  on  a  rawe.' 

307.  'God  forbede,'  sayd  Lytell  Much, 

'That  dyed  on  a  tre, 
That  thou  sholdest,  Lytell  Johan, 
Parte  our  company.' 

308.  Up  he  toke  hym  on  his  backe, 

And  bare  hym  well  a  myle  ; 
Many  a  tyme  he  layd  him  downe, 
And  shot  another  whyle. 


46  BALLADS. 

309.     Then  was  there  a  fayre  castell, 

A  lytell  within  the  wode  ,• 
Double-dyched  it  was  about, 
And  walled,  by  the  rode. 

3 1  o.     And  there  dwelled  that  gentyll  knyght, 

Syr  Rychard  at  the  Lee, 
That  Robyn  had  lent  his  good, 
Under  the  grene-wode  tree. 

311.  In  he  toke  good  Robyn, 

And  all  his  company  : 
'Welcome  be  thou,  Robyn  Hode, 
Welcome  arte  thou  to  me  ; 

312.  'And  moche  I  thanke  the  of  thy  comfort. 

And  of  thy  curteysye, 
And  of  thy  grete  kyndenesse, 
Under  the  grene-wode  tre. 

313.  'I  love  no  man  in  all  this  wo  ride 

So  much  as  I  do  the ; 
For  all  the  proud  sheryf  of  Notyngham, 
Ryght  here  shalt  thou  be. 

314.  '  Shutte  the  gates,  and  drawe  the  brydge, 

And  let  no  man  come  in, 
And  arme  you  well,  and  make  you  redy, 
And  to  the  walles  ye  wynne. 

315.  'For  one  thynge,  Robyn,  I  the  behote  ; 

I  swere  by  Saynt  Quyntyne, 
These  forty  dayes  thou  wonnest  with  me, 
To  soupe,  ete,  and  dyne.' 


BALLADS.  47 

316.     Bordes  were  layde,  and  clothes  were  spredde, 

Redely  and  anone ; 
Robyn  Hode  and  his  mery  men 
To  mete  can  they  gone. 


THE  SIXTH  FYTTE. 

317.  Lythe  and  lysten,  gentylmen, 

And  herkyn  to  your  songe  ; 
Howe  the  proude  shyref  of  Notyngham, 
And  men  of  armys  stronge, 

318.  Full  fast  cam  to  the  hye  shyref, 

The  centre  up  to  route, 
And  they  besette  the  knyghtes  castell, 
The  walles  all  aboute. 

319.  The  proude  shyref  loude  gan  crye, 

And  sayde,  '  Thou  traytour  knight, 
Thou  kepest  here  the  kynges  enemys, 
Agaynst  the  lawe  and  right.' 

320.  'Syr,  I  wyll  avowe  that  I  have  done, 

The  dedys  that  here  be  dyght, 
Upon  all  the  lande's  that  I  have, 
As  I  am  a  trewe  knyght. 

321.  'Wende  furth,  sirs,  on  your  way, 

And  do  no  more  to  me 
Tyll  ye  wyt  cure  kynges  wille, 
What  he  wyll  say  to  the.' 


48  BALLADS. 

322.  The  shyref  thus  had  his  answere, 

Without  any  lesynge ; 
Forth  he  yede  to  London  towne, 
All  for  to  tel  our  kinge. 

323.  Ther  he  telde  him  of  that  knight. 

And  eke  of  Robyn  Hode, 
And  also  of  the  bolde  archars, 
That  were  soo  noble  and  gode. 

324.  '  He  wyll  avowe  that  he  hath  done, 

To  mayntene  the  outlawes  stronge ; 
He  wyll  be  lorde,  and  set  you  at  nought, 
In  all  the  northe  londe.' 

325.  'I  wil  be  at  Notyngham,'  saide  our  kynge, 

'Within  this  fourteenyght, 

And  take  I  wyll  Robyn  Hode 

And  so  I  wyll  that  knight. 

326.  '  Go  nowe  home,  shyref,'  sayde  our  kynge, 

'  And  do  as  I  byd  the  ; 
And  ordeyn  gode  archers  ynowe, 
Of  all  the  wyde  centre'.' 

327.  The  shyref  had  his  leve  i-take, 

And  went  hym  on  his  way, 
And  Robyn  Hode  to  grene  wode, 
Upon  a  certen  day. 

328.  And  Lytel  John  was  hole  of  the  arowe 

That  shot  was  in  his  kne, 
And  dyd  hym  streyght  to  Robyn  Hode, 
Under  the  grene  wode  tree. 


BALLADS.  49 

329.  Robyn  Hode  walked  in  the  forest, 

Under  the  levys  grene  ; 
The  proude  shyref  of  Notyngham 
Thereof  he  had  grete  tene. 

330.  The  shyref  there  fayled  of  Robyn  Hode, 

He  myght  not  have  his  pray  ; 
Than  he  awayted  this  gentyll  knyght, 
Bothe  by  nyght  and  day. 

331.  Ever  he  wayted  the  gentyll  knyght, 

Syr  Richarde  at  the  Lee, 
As  he  went  on  haukynge  by  the  ryver-syde, 
And  lete  his  haukes  flee. 

332.  Toke  he  there  this  gentyll  knight, 

With  men  of  armys  stronge, 
And  led  hym  to  Notynghamwarde, 
Bounde  bothe  fote  and  hande. 

333.  The  sheref  sware  a  full  grete  othe, 

Bi  him  that  dyed  on  rode, 
He  had  lever  than  an  hundred  pound 
That  he  had  Robyn  Hode. 

334.  This  harde  the  knyghtes  wyfe, 

A  fayr  lady  and  a  free  ; 
,     She  set  hir  on  a  gode  palfrey, 

To  grene  wode  anone  rode  she. 

335.  Whanne  she  cam  in  the  forest, 

Under  the  grene  wode  tree, 
Fonde  she  there  Robyn  Hode, 
And  al  his  fayre  mene. 


SO  BALLADS. 

336.  'God  the  save,  gode  Robyn, 

And  all  thy  company  ; 
For  Our  dere  Ladyes  sake, 
A  bone  graunte  thou  me. 

337.  'Late  never  my  wedded  lorde 

Shamefully  slayne  be  ; 
He  is  fast  bound  to  Notinghamwarde, 
For  the  love  of  the.' 

338.  Anone  than  saide  goode  Robyn 

To  that  lady  so  fre, 
'  What  man  hath  your  lorde  ytake  ? ' 
'The  proude  shirife,'  than  sayd  she. 

339-     •  • 

'  For  soth  as  I  the  say  ; 

He  is  nat  yet  thre  myles 
Passed  on  his  way.' 

340.  Up  than  sterte  gode  Robyn, 

As  man  that  had  ben  wode  : 
'  Buske  you,  my  mery  men, 
For  hym  that  dyed  on  rode. 

341.  'And  he  that  this  sorowe  forsaketh, 

By  hym  that  dyed  on  tre, 

Shall  he  never  in  grene  wode 

No  lenger  dwel  with  me.' 

342.  Sone  there  were  gode  bowe's  bent, 

Mo  than  seven  score ; 
Hedge  ne  dyche  spared  they  none 
That  was  them  before. 


BALLADS.  51 

343.  '  I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayde  Robyn, 

'  The  sherif  wolde  I  fayne  see ; 
And  if  I  may  him  take, 
I-quyt  then  shall  he  be.' 

344.  And  when  they  came  to  Notingham, 

They  walked  in  the  strete  ; 
And  with  the  proude  sherif  i-wys 
Sone  can  they  mete. 

345.  '  Abyde,  thou  proude  sherif,'  he  sayde, 

'  Abyde,  and  speke  with  me  ; 
Of  some  tidinges  of  oure  kinge 
I  wolde  fayne  here  of  the. 

346.  'This  seven  yere,  by  dere  worthy  God, 

Ne  yede  I  this  fast  on  fote ; 
I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,  thou  proude  sherif, 
It  is  not  for  thy  gode.' 

347.  Robyn  bent  a  full  goode  bowe, 

An  arrowe  he  drowe  at  wyll ; 
He  hit  so  the  proude  sherife 

Upon  the  grounde  he  lay  full  still. 

348.  And  or  he  myght  up  aryse, 

On  his  fete  to  stonde, 
He  smote  of  the  sherifs  hede 
With  his  bright  bronde. 

349.  '  Lye  thou  there,  thou  proude  sherife ; 

Evyll  mote  thou  thryve  : 
There  myght  no  man  to  the  truste 
The  whyles  thou  were  a  lyve.' 


52  BALLADS. 

350.  His  men  drewe  out  theyr  bryght  swerdes, 

That  were  so  sharpe  and  kene, 
And  layde  on  the  sheryves  men, 
And  dryved  them  downe  bydene. 

351.  Robyn  stert  to  that  knyght, 

And  cut  a  two  his  bonde, 
And  toke  hym  in  his  hand  a  bowe, 
And  bad  hym  by  hym  stonde. 

352.  '  Leve  thy  hors  the  behynde, 

And  lerne  for  to  renne  ; 
Thou  shalt  with  me  to  grene  wode, 
Through  myre,  mosse,  and  fenne. 

353.  '  Thou  shalt  with  me  to  grene  wode, 

Without  ony  leasynge, 
Tyll  that  I  have  gete  us  grace 
Of  Edwarde,  our  comly  kynge.' 


THE  SEVENTH  FYTTE. 

354.  The  kynge  came  to  Notynghame, 

With  knyghtes  in  grete  araye, 
For  to  take  that  gentyll  knyght 
And  Robyn  Hode,  and  yf  he  may. 

355.  He  asked  men  of  that  countre, 

After  Robyn  Hode, 
And  after  that  gentyll  knyght, 
That  was  so  bolde  and  stout. 


BALLADS.  53 

356.  Whan  they  had  tolde  hym  the  case 

Our  kynge  understode  ther  tale, 
And  seased  in  his  honde 
The  knyghtes  landes  all. 

357.  All  the  passe  of  Lancasshyre 

He  went  both  ferre  and  nere, 
Tyll  he  came  to  Plomton  Parke  ; 
He  faylyd  many  of  his  dere. 

358.  There  our  kynge  was  wont  to  se 

Herdes  many  one, 
He  coud  unneth  fynde  one  dere, 
That  bare  ony  good  home. 

359.  The  kynge  was  wonder  wroth  with  all, 

And  swore  by  the  Trynyte, 

'  I  wolde  I  had  Robyn  Hode, 

With  eyen  I  myght  hym  se. 

360.  '  And  he  that  wolde  smyte  of  the  knyghtes  hede, 

And  brynge  it  to  me, 
He  shall  have  the  knyghtes  londes, 
Syr  Rycharde  at  the  Le. 

361.  'I  gyve  it  hym  with  my  charter, 

And  sele  it  with  my  honde, 
To  have  and  holde  for  ever  more, 
In  all  mery  Englonde.' 

362.  Than  bespake  a  fayre  olde  knyght, 

That  was  treue  in  his  fay  : 
'  A,  my  leege  lorde  the  kynge, 
One  worde  I  shall  you  say. 


54  BALLADS. 

363.  'There  is  no  man  in  this  countre 

May  have  the  knyghtes  londes, 
Whyle  Robyn  Hode  may  ryde  or  gone, 
And  here  a  bowe  in  his  hondes, 

364.  '  That  he  ne  shall  lese  his  hede, 

That  is  the  best  ball  in  his  hode  : 
Give  it  no  man,  my  lorde  the  kynge, 
That  ye  wyll  any  good.' 

365.  Half  a  yere  dwelled  our  comly  kynge 

In  Notyngham,  and  well  more ; 
Coude  he  not  here  of  Robyn  Hode, 
In  what  countre  that  he  were. 

366.  But  alway  went  good  Robyn 

By  halke  and  eke  by  hyll, 
And  alway  slewe  the  kynges  dere, 
And  welt  them  at  his  wyll. 

367.  Than  bespake  a  proude  fostere, 

That  stode  by  our  kynges  kne  : 
'  Yf  ye  wyll  see  good  Robyn. 
Ye  must  do  after  me. 

368.  'Take  fyve  of  the  best  knyghtes 

That  be  in  your  lede, 
And  walke  downe  by  yon  abbay, 
And  gete  you  monke's  wede. 

369.  And  I  wyll  be  your  ledes-man, 

And  lede  you  the  way, 
And  or  ye  come  to  Notyngham, 
Myn  hede  then  dare  I  lay, 


BALLADS.  55 

370.  That  ye  shall  mete  with  good  Robyn, 

On  lyve  yf  that  he  be ; 
Or  ye  come  to  Notyngham, 
With  eyen  ye  shall  hym  se. 

371.  Full  hastely  our  kynge  was  dyght, 

So  were  his  knyghtes  fyve, 
Everych  of  them  in  monkes  wede, 
And  hasted  them  thyder  blyve. 

372.  Our  kynge  was  grete  above  his  cole, 

A  brode  hat  on  his  crowne, 
Ryght  as  he  were  abbot-lyke, 
They  rode  up  into  the  towne. 

373.  Styf  botes  our  kynge  had  on, 

Forsoth  as  I  you  say ; 
He  rode  syngynge  to  grene  wode, 
The  covent  was  clothed  in  grave. 

374.  His  male-hors  and  his  grete  somers 

Folowed  our  kynge  behynde, 
Tyll  they  came  to  grene  wode, 
A  myle  under  the  lynde. 

375.  There  they  met  with  good  Robyn, 

Stondynge  on  the  waye, 
And  so  dyde  many  a  bolde  archere, 
For  soth  as  I  you  say. 

376.  Robyn  toke  the  kynges  hors, 

Hastely  in  that  stede, 
And  sayd,  Syr  abbot,  by  your  leve, 
A  whyle  ye  must  abyde. 


56  BALLADS. 

377.  'We  be  yemen  of  this  foreste, 

Under  the  grene-wode  tre ; 
We  lyve  by  our  kynge's  dere, 
Other  shift  have  not  wee. 

378.  'And  ye  have  chyrches  and  rentes  both, 

And  gold  full  grete  plente ; 
Gyve  us  some  of  your  spendynge, 
For  saynt  chary te.' 

379.  Than  bespake  our  cumly  kynge, 

Anone  than  sayd  he  ; 
'  I  brought  no  more  to  grene-wode 
But  forty  pounde  with  me. 

380.  '  I  have  layne  at  Notyngham, 

This  fourtynyght  with  our  kynge, 
And  spent  I  have  full  moche  good 
On  many  a  grete  lordynge. 

381.  'And  I  have  but  forty  pounde, 

No  more  than  have  I  me  : 
But  if  I  had  an  hondred  pounde, 
I  would  give  it  to  thee.' 

382.  Robyn  toke  the  forty  pounde, 

And  departed  it  in  two  partye ; 
Halfendell  he  gave  his  mery  men, 
And  bad  them  mery  to  be. 

383.  Full  curteysly  Robyn  gan  say; 

'  Syr,  have  this  for  your  spendyng ; 
We  shall  mete  another  day ' ; 

'Gramercy,'  than  sayd  our  kynge. 


BALLADS.  57 

384.  '  But  well  the  greteth  Edwarde,  our  kynge, 

And  sent  to  the  his  scale, 
And  byddeth  the  com  to  Notyngham, 
Both  to  mete  and  mele.' 

385.  He  toke  out  the  brode  targe, 

And  sone  he  lete  hym  se  ; 
Robyn  coud  his  courteysy, 
And  set  hym  on  his  kne. 

386.  '  I  love  no  man  in  all  the  worlde 

So  well  as  I  do  my  kynge ; 
Welcome  is  my  lordes  scale ; 
And,  monke,  for  thy  tydynge, 

387.  '  Syr  abbot,  for  thy  tydynges, 

To  day  thou  shalt  dyne  with  me,  , 

For  the  love  of  my  kynge, 
Under  my  trystell-tre.' 

388.  Forth  he  lad  our  comly  kynge, 

Full  fayre  by  the  honde ; 
Many  a  dere  there  was  slayne, 
And  full  fast  dyghtande. 

389.  Robyn  toke  a  full  grete  home, 

And  loude  he  gan  blowe  ; 
Seven  score  of  wyght  yonge  men 
Came  redy  on  a  rowe. 

390.  All  they  kneled  on  theyr  kne, 

Full  fayre  before  Robyn  : 
The  kynge  sayd  hym  selfe  untyll, 
And  swore  by  Saynt  Austyn, 


58  BALLADS. 

391.  '  Here  is  a  wonder  semely  sight ; 

Me  thynketh,  by  Goddes  pyne, 
His  men  are  more  at  his  byddynge 
Then  my  men  be  at  myn.' 

392.  Full  hastely  was  theyr  dyner  idyght, 

And  therto  gan  they  gone  ; 
They  served  our  kynge  with  all  theyr  myght, 
Both  Robyn  and  Lytell  Johan. 

393.  Anone  before  our  kynge  was  set 

The  fatte  venyson, 

The  good  whyte  brede,  the  good  rede  wyne, 
And  therto  the  fyne  ale  and  browne. 

394.  '  Make  good  chere,'  said  Robyn, 
.  '  Abbot,  for  charyte  ; 

And  for  this  ylke  tydynge, 
Blyssed  mote  thou  be. 

395.  '  Now  shake  thou  se  what  lyfe  we  lede, 

Or  thou  hens  wende  ; 
Than  thou  may  enfourme  our  kynge, 
Whan  ye  togyder  lende.' 

396.  Up  they  sterte  all  in  hast, 

Theyr  bowes  were  smartly  bent ; 
Our  kynge  was  never  so  sore  agast, 
He  wende  to  have  be  shente. 

397.  Two  yerdes  there  were  up  set, 

Thereto  gan  they  gange ; 
By  fyfty  pase,  our  kynge  sayd, 
The  merke's  were  to  longe. 


BALLADS.  59 

398.  On  every  syde  a  rose-garlonde, 

They  shot  under  the  lyne  : 

'Who  so  fayleth  of  the  rose-garlonde,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  His  takyll  he  shall  tyne, 

399.  'And  yelde  it  to  his  mayster, 

Be  it  never  so  fyne  ; 
For  no  man  wyll  I  spare, 
So  drynke  I  ale  or  wyne ; 

400.  '  And  here  a  buffet  on  his  hede, 

I-wys  ryght  all  bare  : ' 
And  all  that  fell  in  Robyns  lote, 
He  smote  them  wonder  sare. 

401.  Twyse  Robyn  shot  aboute, 

And  ever  he  cleved  the  wandft, 
And  so  dyde  good  Gylberte 
With  the  whyte  hande. 

402.  Lytell  Johan  and  good  Scathelocke, 

For  nothynge  wolde  they  spare  ; 
When  they  fayled  of  the  garlonde, 
Robyn  smote  them  full  sore. 

403.  At  the  last  shot  that  Robyn  shot, 

For  all  his  frendes  fare, 

Yet  he  fayled  of  the  garlonde 

Thre  fyngers  and  mare. 

404.  Than  bespake  good  Gylberte, 

And  thus  he  gan  say  ; 
'Mayster,'  he  sayd,  'your  takyll  is  lost, 
Stande  forth  and  take  your  pay.' 


60  BALLADS. 

405.  '  If  it  be  so,'  sayd  Robyn, 

f  That  may  no  better  be, 
Syr  abbot,  I  delyver  the  myn  arowe, 
I  pray  the,  syr,  serve  thou  me.' 

406.  '  It  falleth  not  for  myn  ordre,'  sayd  our  kynge, 

'  Robyn,  by  thy  leve, 
For  to  smyte  no  good  yeman, 
For  doute  I  sholde  hym  greve.' 

407.  'Smyte  on  boldely,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  I  give  the  large  leve  : ' 
Anone  our  kynge,  with  that  worde, 
He  folde  up  his  sieve, 

408.  And  sych  a  buffet  he  gave  Robyn, 

To  grouhde  he  yede  full  nere  : 
'  I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  Thou  arte  a  stalworthe  frere. 

409.  '  There  is  pith  in  thyn  arme,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  I  trowe  thou  canst  well  shete ; ' 
Thus  our  kynge  and  Robyn  Hode 
Togeder  gan  they  mete. 

410.  Robyn  behelde  our  comly  kynge 

Wystly  in  the  face, 
So  dyde  Syr  Rycharde  at  the  Le, 
And  kneled  downe  in  that  place. 

411.  And  so  dyde  all  the  wylde  outlawes, 

Whan  they  se  them  knele  : 
1  My  lorde  the  kynge  of  Englonde, 
Now  I  knowe  you  well.' 


BALLADS.  61 

412.  '  Mercy  then,  Robyn,'  sayd  our  kynge, 

'  Under  your  trystyll-tre, 
Of  thy  goodnesse  and  thy  grace, 
For  my  men  and  me  ! ' 

413.  'Yes,  for  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'And  also  God  me  save, 
I  aske  mercy,  my  lorde  the  kynge, 
And  for  my  men  I  crave.' 

414.  'Yes,  for  God,'  than  sayd  our  kynge, 

'And  therto  sent  I  me, 
With  that  thou  leve  the  grene-wode, 
And  all  thy  company  ; 

415.  'And  come  home,  syr,  to  my  courte, 

And  there  dwell  with  me.' 
'  I  make  myn  avowe  to  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'  And  ryght  so  shall  it  be. 

416.  'I  wyll  come  to  your  courte, 

Your  servyse  for  to  se, 
And  brynge  with  me  of  my  men 
Seven  score  and  thre. 

417.  '  But  me  lyke  well  your  servyse, 

I  wyll  come  agayne  full  soone, 
And  shote  at  the  donne  dere, 
As  I  am  wonte  to  done.' 


62  BALLADS. 

THE  EIGHTH  FYTTE. 

418.  'Haste  thou  ony  grene  cloth,'  sayd  our  kynge, 

'  That  thou  wylte  sell  nowe  to  me  ? ' 
'Ye,  for  God,'  sayd  Robyn, 
'Thyrty  yerdes  and  thre.' 

419.  '  Robyn,'  sayd  our  kynge, 

'  Now  pray  I  the, 
Sell  me  some  of  that  cloth, 
To  me  and  my  meyne.' 

420.  'Yes,  for  God,'  then  sayd  Robyn, 

'  Or  elles  I  were  a  fole  ; 
Another  day  ye  wyll  me  clothe, 
I  trowe,  ayenst  the  Yole.' 

42 1 .  The  kynge  kest  of  his  cole  then, 

A  grene  garment  he  dyde  on, 
And  every  knyght  also,  iwys, 
Another  had  full  sone. 

422.  Whan  they  were  clothed  in  Lyncolne  grene, 

They  keste  away  theyr  graye  ; 
'  Now  we  shall  to  Notyngham,' 
All  thus  our  kynge  gan  say. 

423.  They  bente  theyr  bowes  and  forth  they  went, 

Shotynge  all  in-fere, 
Towarde  the  towne  of  Notyngham, 
Outlawes  as  they  were. 

424.  Our  kynge  and  Robyn  rode  togyder, 

For  soth  as  I  you  say, 
And  they  shote  plucke-buffet, 
As  they  went  by  the  way. 


BALLADS.  63 

425.  And  many  a  buffet  our  kynge  wan 

Of  Robyn  Hode  that  day, 
And  nothynge  spared  good  Robyn 
Our  kynge  when  he  did  pay. 

426.  '  So  God  me  helpe,'  sayd  our  kynge, 

'  Thy  game  is  nought  to  lere  ; 

I  sholde  not  get  a  shote  of  the, 

Though  I  shote  all  this  yere.' 

427.  All  the  people  of  Notyngham 

They  stode  and  behelde  ; 
They  sawe  nothynge  but  mantels  of  grene 
That  covered  all  the  felde. 

428.  Than  every  man  to  other  gan  say, 

'  I  drede  our  kynge  be  slone  ; 
Come  Robyn  Hode  to  the  towne,  i-wys 
On  lyve  he  lefte  never  one.' 

429.  Full  hastely  they  began  to  fle,  • 

Both  yemen  and  knaves, 
And  olde  wyves  that  myght  evyll  goo, 
They  hypped  on  theyr  staves. 

430.  The  kynge  loughe  full  fast, 

And  commaunded  theym  agayne  ; 
When  they  se  our  comly  kynge, 
I-wys  they  were  full  fayne. 

431.  They  ete  and  dranke,  and  made  them  glad, 

Arid  sange  with  notes  hye ; 
Than  bespake  our  comly  kynge 
To  Syr  Richarde  at  the  Lee. 


64  BALLADS. 

432.  He  gave  hym  there  his  loncle  agayne, 

A  good  man  he  bad  hym  be ; 
Robyn  thanked  our  comly  kynge, 
And  set  hym  on  his  kne. 

433.  Had  Robyn  dwelled  in  the  kynges  courte 

But  twelve  monethes  and  thre, 
That  he  had  spent  an  hondred  pounde, 
And  all  his  mennes  fe. 

434.  In  every  place  where  Robyn  came 

Ever  more  he  layde  downe, 
Both  for  knyghtes  and  for  squyres, 
To  gete  hym  grete  renowne. 

435.  By  than  the  yere  was  all  agone 

He  had  no  man  but  twayne, 
Lytell  Johan  and  good  Scathelocke, 
With  hym  all  for  to  gone. 

436.  Robyn  sawe  yonge  men  shote 

Full  faire  upon  a  day ; 
'Alas  ! '  than  sayd  good  Robyn, 
'  My  welthe  is  went  away. 

437.  '  Somtyme  I  was  an  archere  good, 

A  styffe  and  eke  a  stronge ; 
I  was  compted  the  best  archere 
That  was  in  mery  Englonde. 

438.  'Alas  ! '  then  sayd  good  Robyn, 

'  Alas  and  well  a  woo ! 
Yf  I  dwele  lenger  with  the  kynge, 
Sorowe  wyll  me  sloo.' 


BALLADS.  65 

439.  Forth  than  went  Robyn  Hode 

Tyll  he  came  to  our  kynge : 
'  My  lorde  the  kynge  of  Englonde, 
Graunte  me  myn  askynge. 

440.  '  I  made  a  chapell  in  Bernysdale, 

That  semely  is  to  se, 
It  is  of  Mary  Magdaleyne, 
And  thereto  wolde  I  be. 

441.  'I  myght  never  in  this  seven  nyght 

No  tyme  to  slepe  ne  wynke, 
Nother  all  these  seven  dayes 
Nother  etc  ne  drynke. 

442.  '  Me  longeth  sore  to  Bernysdale, 

I  may  not  be  therfro  ; 
Barefote  and  wolwarde  I  have  hyght 
Thyder  for  to  go.' 

443.  'Yf  it  be  so,'  than  sayd  our  kynge, 

'  It  may  no  better  be  ; 
Seven  nyght  I  gyve  the  leve, 
No  lengre,  to  dwell  fro  me.' 

444.  'Gramercy,  lorde,'  then  sayd  Robyn, 

And  set  hym  on  his  kne ; 
He  toke  his  leve  full  courteysly, 
To  grene  wode  then  went  he. 

445.  Whan  he  came  to  grene  wode, 

In  a  mery  mornynge, 
There  he  herde  the  notes  small 
Of  byrdes  mery  syngynge. 


66  BALLADS. 

446.  '  It  is  ferre  gone,'  sayd  Robyn, 

'  That  I  was  last  here  ; 
Me  lyste  a  lytell  for  to  shote 
At  the  donne  dere.' 

447.  Robyn  slewe  a  full  grete  harte  ; 

His  home  than  gan  he  blow, 

That  all  the  outlawes  of  that  forest 

That  home  coud  they  knowe, 

448.  And  gadred  them  togyder, 

In  a  lytell  throwe. 
Seven  score  of  wyght  yonge  men 
Came  redy  on  a  rowe, 

449.  And  fayre  dyde  of  theyr  hodes, 

And  set  them  on  theyr  kne  : 
'Welcome,'  they  sayd,  'our  mayster, 
Under  this  grene-wode  tre.' 

450.  Robyn  dwelled  in  grene  wode 

Twenty  yere  and  two  ; 
For  all  drede  of  Edwarde  our  kynge, 
Agayne  wolde  he  not  goo. 

45 1 .  Yet  he  was  begyled,  i-wys, 

Through  a  wycked  woman, 
The  pryoresse  of  Kyrkesly, 
That  nye  was  of  hys  kynne  : 

452.  For  the  love  of  a  knyght, 

Syr  Roger  of  Donkesly, 

That  was  her  owne  speciall ; 

Full  evyll  mote  they  the  ! 


BALLADS.  67 

453.  They  toke  togyder  theyr  counsell 

Robyn  Hode  for  to  sle, 
And  how  they  myght  best  do  that  dede, 
His  banis  for  to  be. 

454.  Than  bespake  good  Robyn, 

In  place  where  as  he  stode, 
'To  morow  I  muste  to  Kyrke[s]ly, 
Craftely  to  be  leten  blode.' 

455.  Syr  Roger  of  Donkestere, 

By  the  pryoresse  he  lay, 
And  there  they  betrayed  good  Robyn  Hode, 
Through  theyr  false  playe. 

456.  Cryst  have  mercy  on  his  soule, 

That  dyed  on  the  rode  ! 
For  he  was  a  good  outlawe, 

And  dyde  pore  men  moch  god. 


68  BALLADS. 


ROBIN    HOOD    AND    GUY    OF   GISBORNE. 

1.  When  shawes  beene  sheene,  and  shradds  full  fayre, 

And  leeves  both  large  and  longe, 
Itt  is  merry,  walking  in  the  fayre  fforrest, 
To  heare  the  small  birds  songe. 

2.  The  woodweele  sang,  and  wold  not  cease, 

Amongst  the  leaves  a  lyne  ; 
And  it  is  by  two  wight  yeomen, 
By  deare  God,  that  I  meane. 

3.  'Me  thought  they  did  mee  beate  and  binde, 

And  tooke  my  bow  mee  froe  ; 
If  I  bee  Robin  a-live  in  this  lande, 
I 'le  be  wrocken  on  both  them  towe.' 

4.  '  Sweavens  are  swift,  master,'  quoth  John, 

'  As  the  wind  that  blowes  ore  a  hill ; 
Ffor  if  itt  be  never  soe  lowde  this  night, 
To-morrow  it  may  be  still.' 

5.  'Buske  yee,  bowne  yee,  my  merry  men  all, 

Ffor  John  shall  goe  with  mee  ; 
For  I  'le  goe  seeke  yond  wight  yeomen 
In  greenwood  where  the  bee.' 

6.  The  cast  on  their  gowne  of  greene, 

A  shooting  gone  are  they, 
Until  they  came  to  the  merry  greenwood, 

Where  they  had  gladdest  bee  ; 
There  were  the  ware  of  a  wight  yeoman, 

His  body  leaned  to  a  tree. 


BALLADS.  69 

7.  A  sword  and  a  dagger  he  wore  by  his  side, 

Had  beene  many  a  man's  bane, 
And  he  was  cladd  in  his  capull-hyde, 
Topp,  and  tayle,  and  mayne. 

8.  '  Stand  you  still,  master/  quoth  Litle  John, 

'  Under  this  trusty  tree, 
And  I  will  goe  to  yond  wight  yeoman, 
To  know  his  meaning  trulye.' 

9.  '  A,  John,  by  me  thou  setts  noe  store, 

And  that's  a  ffarley  thinge  ; 

How  offt  send  I  my  men  beffore, 

And  tarry  my-selfe  behinde? 

10.  'It  is  noe  cunning  a  knave  to  ken, 

And  a  man  but  heare  him  speake  ; 
And  itt  were  not  for  bursting  of  my  bowe, 
John,  I  wold  thy  head  breake.' 

1 1 .  But  often  words  they  breeden  bale, 

That  parted  Robin  and  John  ; 
John  is  gone  to  Barnesdale, 

The  gates  he  knowes  eche  one. 

12.  And  when  hee  came  to  Barnesdale, 

Great  heavinesse  there  hee  hadd  ; 
He  ffound  two  of  his  fellowes 
Were  slaine  both  in  a  slade, 

13.  And  Scarlett  a  ffoote  flyinge  was, 

Over  stockes  and  stone, 
For  the  sheriffe  with  seven  score  men 
Fast  after  him  is  gone. 


70  BALLADS. 

14.  '  Yett  one  shoote  I  'le  shoote,'  sayes  Litle  John, 

'  With  Crist  his  might  and  mayne  ; 
I  'le  make  yond  fellow  that  flyes  soe  fast 
To  be  both  glad  and  ffaine.' 

15.  John  bent  up  a  good  veiwe  bow, 

And  ffetteled  him  to  shoote  ; 
The  bow  was  made  of  a  tender  boughe, 
And  fell  downe  to  his  foote. 

16.  'Woe  worth  thee,  wicked  wood,'  sayd  Litle  John, 

'  That  ere  thou  grew  on  a  tree  ! 
Ffor  this  day  thou  art  my  bale, 
My  boote  when  thou  shold  bee  ! ' 

17.  This  shoote  it  was  but  looselye  shott, 

The  arrowe  flew  in  vaine, 
And  it  mett  one  of  the  sheriffe's  men  ; 
Good  William  a  Trent  was  slaine. 

1 8.  It  had  beene  better  for  William  a  Trent 

To  hange  upon  a  gallowe 
Then  for  to  lye  in  the  greenwoode, 
There  slaine  with  an  arrowe. 

19.  And  it  is  sayd,  when  men  be  mett,1 

Six  can  doe  more  than  three  : 
And  they  have  tane  Litle  John, 
And  bound  him  ffast  to  a  tree. 

20.  'Thou  shalt  be  drawen  by  dale  and  downe,' 

quoth  the  sheriffe, 
'  And  hanged  hye  on  a  hill  : ' 
'  But  thou  may  ffayle,'  quoth  Litle  John, 
'  If  itt  be  Christ's  owne  will.' 


BALLADS.  71 

2 1 .  Let  us  leave  talking  of  Litle  John, 

For  hee  is  bound  fast  to  a  tree, 
And  talke  of  Guy  and  Robin  Hood 
In  the  green  woode  where  they  bee. 

22.  How  these  two  yeomen  together  they  mett, 

Under  the  leaves  of  lyne, 
To  see  what  marchandise  they  made 
Even  at  that  same  time. 

23.  '  Good  morrow,  good  fellow,'  quoth  Sir  Guy  ; 

'Good  morrow,  good  ffellow,'  quoth  hee  ; 
'  Methinkes  by  this  bow  thou  beares  in  thy  hand, 

A  good  archer  thou  seems  to  bee. 

» 

24.  '  I  am  wilfull  of  my  way,'  quoth  Sir  Guye, 

'  And  of  my  morning  tyde  : ' 
'I'le  lead  thee  through  the  wood,'  quoth  Robin, 
'  Good  ffellow,  I'le  be  thy  guide.' 

25.  'I  seeke  an  outlaw,'  quoth  Sir  Guye, 

'  Men  call  him  Robin  Hood  ; 
I  had  rather  meet  with  him  upon  a  day 
Then  forty  pound  of  golde.' 

26.  '  If  you  tow  mett,  itt  wold  be  scene  whether  were 

better 

Afore  yee  did  part  awaye  ; 

Let  us  some  other  pastime  find, 

Good  ffellow,  I  thee  pray. 

27.  '  Let  us  some  other  masteryes  make, 

And  wee  will  walke  in  the  woods  even  ; 
Wee  may  chance  meet  with  Robin  Hoode 
Att  some  unsett  steven.' 


72  BALLADS. 

28.  They  cutt  them  downe  the  summer  shroggs 

Which  grew  both  under  a  bryar, 
And  sett  them  three  score  rood  in  twinn, 
To  shoote  the  prickes  full  neare. 

29.  'Leade  on,  good  ffellow,'  sayd  Sir  Guye, 

'  Lead  on,  I  doe  bidd  thee  : ' 
'  Nay,  by  my  faith,'  quoth  Robin  Hood, 
'  The  leader  thou  shalt  bee.' 

30.  The  first  good  shoot  that  Robin  ledd, 

Did  not  shoote  an  inch  the  pricke  ffroe  ; 
Guy  was  an  archer  good  enoughe, 
But  he  cold  neere  shoote  soe. 

3 1 .  The  second  shoote  Sir  Guy  shott, 

He  shott  within  the  garlande  ; 
But  Robin  Hoode  shott  it  better  than  hee, 
For  he  clove  the  good  pricke-wande. 

32.  '  God's  blessing  on  thy  heart ! '  sayes  Guye, 

'  Goode  ffellow,  thy  shooting  is  goode  ; 
For  an  thy  hart  be  as  good  as  thy  hands, 
Thou  were  better  than  Robin  Hood. 

33.  'Tell  me  thy  name,  good  ffellow,'  quoth  Guy, 

'  Under  the  leaves  of  lyne  : ' 
'  Nay,  by  my  faith,'  quoth  good  Robin, 
'  Till  thou  have  told  me  thine.' 

34.  'I  dwell  by  dale  and  downe,'  quoth  Guye, 

'  And  I  have  done  many  a  curst  turne  ; 
And  he  that  calles  me  by  my  right  name, 
Calles  me  Guye  of  good  Gysborne.' 


BALLADS.  73 

35.  '  My  dwelling  is  in  the  wood,'  sayes  Robin  ; 

'  By  thee  I  set  right  nought ; 
My  name  is  Robin  Hood  of  Barnesdale, 
A  ffellow  thou  has  long  sought.' 

36.  He  that  had  neither  beene  a  kithe  nor  kin 

Might  have  scene  a  full  fayre  sight, 
To  see  how  together  these  yeomen  went, 
With  blades  both  browne  and  bright. 

37.  To  have  seene  how  these  yeomen  together  fought 

Two  howers  of  a  summer's  day  ; 

Itt  was  neither  Guy  nor  Robin  Hood 

That  Settled  them  to  flye  away. 

38.  Robin  was  reacheles  on  a  roote, 

And  stumbled  at  that  tyde, 
And  Guy  was  quicke  and  nimble  with-all, 
And  hitt  him  ore  the  left  side. 

39.  '  Ah,  deere  Lady  ! '  sayd  Robin  Hoode, 

'  Thou  art  both  mother  and  may  ! 
I  thinke  it  was  never  man's  destinye 
To  dye  before  his  day.' 

40.  Robin  thought  on  Our  Lady  deere, 

And  soone  leapt  up  againe, 
And  thus  he  came  with  an  awkwarde  stroke ; 
Good  Sir  Guy  hee  has  slayne. 

41.  He  tooke  Sir  Guy's  head  by  the  hayre, 

And  sticked  itt  on  his  bowe's  end  : 
'  Thou  hast  beene  traytor  all  thy  liffe, 
Which  thing  must  have  an  ende.' 


74  BALLADS. 

42.  Robin  pulled  forth  an  Irish  kniffe, 

And  nicked  Sir  Guy  in  the  fface, 
That  hee  was  never  on  a  woman  borne 
Cold  tell  who  Sir  Guye  was. 

43.  Saies,  Lye  there,  lye  there,  good  Sir  Guye, 

And  with  me  be  not  wrothe  ; 
If  thou  have  had  the  worse  stroakes  at  my  hand, 
Thou  shalt  have  the  better  cloathe. 

44.  Robin  did  off  his  gowne  of  greene, 

Sir  Guye  hee  did  it  throwe  ; 

And  hee  put  on  that  capull-hyde 

That  cladd  him  topp  to  toe. 

45.  'The  bowe,  the  arrowes,  and  litle  home, 

And  with  me  now  I  'le  beare  ; 

Ffor  now  I  will  goe  to  Barnesdale, 

To  see  how  my  men  doe  ffare.' 

46.  Robin  sett  Guye's  home  to  his  mouth, 

A  lowd  blast  in  it  he  did  blow  ; 
That  beheard  the  sheriffe  of  Nottingham, 
As  he  leaned  under  a  lowe. 

47.  '  Hearken  !  hearken  ! '  sayd  the  sheriffe, 

'  I  heard  noe  tydings  but  good  ; 
For  yonder  I  heare  Sir  Guye's  home  blowe, 
For  he  hath  slaine  Robin  Hoode. 

48.  '  For  yonder  I  heare  Sir  Guye's  home  blow, 

Itt  blowes  soe  well  in  tyde, 
For  yonder  comes  that  wighty  yeoman, 
Cladd  in  his  capull-hyde. 


BALLADS.  75 

49.  '  Come  hither,  thou  good  Sir  Guy, 

Aske  of  mee  what  thou  wilt  have  : ' 
'I'le  none  of  thy  gold,'  sayes  Robin  Hood, 
'  Nor  I  'le  none  of  itt  have. 

50.  '  But  now  I  have  slaine  the  master,'  he  sayd, 

'  Let  me  goe  strike  the  knave  ; 
This  is  all  the  reward  I  aske, 
Nor  noe  other  will  I  have.' 

51.  'Thou  art  a  madman,'  said  the  shiriffe, 

'  Thou  sholdest  have  had  a  knight's  ffee  ; 
Seeing  thy  asking  hath  beene  soe  badd, 
Well  granted  it  shall  be.' 

52.  But  Litle  John  heard  his  master  speake, 

Well  he  knew  that  was  his  steven  ; 
1  Now  shall  I  be  loset,'  quoth  Litle  John, 
'With  Christ's  might  in  heaven.' 

53.  But  Robin  hee  hyed  him  towards  Litle  John, 

Hee  thought  hee  wold  loose  him  belive  ; 
The  sheriffe  and  all  his  companye 
Fast  after  him  did  drive. 

54.  '  Stand  abacke  !  stand  abacke  ! '  sayd  Robin  ; 

'  Why  draw  you  mee  soe  neere  ? 
Itt  was  never  the  use  in  our  countrye 
One's  shrift  another  shold  heere.' 

55.  But  Robin  pulled  forth  an  Irysh  kniffe, 

And  losed  John  hand  and  ffoote, 
And  gave  him  Sir  Guye's  bow  in  his  hand, 
And  bade  it  be  his  boote. 


76  BALLADS. 

56.  But  John  tooke  Guye's  bow  in  his  hand 

(His  arrowes  were  rawstye  by  the  roote); 
The  sherriffe  saw  Litle  John  draw  a  bow 
And  Settle  him  to  shoote. 

57.  Towards  his  house  in  Nottingham 

He  fried  full  fast  away, 
And  soe  did  all  his  companye, 
Not  one  behind  did  stay. 

58.  But  he  cold  neither  soe  fast  goe, 

Nor  away  soe  fast  runn, 
But  Litle  John,  with  an  arrow  broade, 
Did  cleave  his  heart  in  twinn. 


BALLADS,  77 


ROBIN    HOOD    AND    THE    MONK. 

1.  In  somer,  when  the  shawes  be  sheyne, 

And  leves  be  large  and  long, 
Hit  is  full  mery  in  feyre  foreste 
To  here  the  foulys  song  : 

2.  To  se  the  dere  draw  to  the  dale, 

And  leve  the  hilles  hee, 
And  shadow  hem  in  the  leves  grene, 
Under  the  grene-wode  tre. 

3.  Hit  befel  on  Whitsontide, 

Erly  in  a  May  mornyng, 
The  son  up  feyre  can  shyne, 
And  the  briddis  mery  can  syng. 

/ 

4.  'This  is  a  mery  mornyng,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'  Be  hym  that  dyed  on  tre  ; 
A  more  mery  man  then  I  am  one 
Lyves  not  in  Christiante. 

5.  '  Pluk  up  thi  hert,  my  dere  mayster,' 

Litull  John  can  sey, 
And  thynk  hit  is  a  full  fayre  tyme 
In  a  mornyng  of  May.' 

6.  '  Ye,  on  thyng  greves  me,'  seid  Robyn, 

'  And  does  my  hert  mych  woo  ; 
That  I  may  not  no  solem  day 
To  mas  nor  matyns  goo. 


78  BALLADS. 

7.  '  Hit  is  a  fourtnet  and  more,'  seid  he, 

'  Syn  I  my  savyour  see  ; 
.  To  day  wil  I  to  Notyngham, 

With  the  myght  of  mylde  Marye.' 

8.  Than  spake  Moche,  the  mylner  sun, 

Ever  more  wel  hym  betyde  ! 
'  Take  twelve  of  thi  wyght  yemen, 

Well  weppynd,  be  thi  side. 
Such  on  wolde  thi  selfe  slon, 

That  twelve  dar  not  abyde.' 

9.  'Of  all  my  mery  men,'  seid  Robyn, 

'  Be  my  feith  I  wil  non  have, 
But  Litull  John  shall  beyre  my  bow, 
Til  that  me  list  to  drawe.' 

10.  'Thou  shall  beyre  thin  own,'  seid  Litull  Jon, 

'  Maister,  and  I  wyl  beyre  myne, 
And  we  well  shete  a  peny,'  seid  Litull  Jon, 
'Under  the  grene-wode  lyne.' 

11.  'I  wil  not  shete  a  peny,'  seyd  Robyn  Hode, 

'  In  feith,  Litull  John,  with  the, 
But  ever  for  on  as  thou  shetis,'  seide  Robyn, 
'  In  feith  I  holde  the  thre.' 

12.  Thus  shet  thei  forth,  these  yemen  too, 

Bothe  at  buske  and  brome, 
Til  Litull  John  wan  of  his  maister 
Five  shillings  to  hose  and  shone. 

13.  A  ferly  strife  fel  them  betwene, 

As  they  went  bi  the  wey  ; 
Litull  John  seid  he  had  won  five  shillings, 
And  Robyn  Hode  seid  schortly  nay. 


BALLADS.  79 

14.  With  that  Robyn  Hode  lyed  Litul  Jon, 

And  smote  hym  with  his  hande ; 
Litul  Jon  waxed  wroth  therwith, 
And  pulled  out  his  bright  bronde. 

15.  'Were  thou  not  my  maister/  seid  Litull  John, 

'  Thou  shuldis  by  hit  ful  sore  ; 
Get  the  a  man  wher  thou  wilt, 
For  thou  getis  me  no  more.' 

1 6.  Then  Robyn  goes  to  Notyngham, 

Hym  selfe  mornyng  allone, 
And  Litull  John  to  mery  Scherwode, 
The  pathes  he  knew  ilkone. 

17.  Whan  Robyn  came  to  Notyngham, 

Sertenly  withouten  layn, 
He  prayed  to  God  and  myld  Mary 
To  bryng  hym  out  save  agayn. 

1 8.  He  gos  in  to  Seynt  Mary  chirch, 

And  kneled  down  before  the  rode  ; 
Alle  that  ever  were  the  church  within 
Beheld  wel  Robyn  Hode. 

19.  Beside  hym  stod  a  gret-hedid  munke, 

I  pray  to  God  woo  he  be  ! 
Fful  sone  he  knew  gode  Robyn, 
As  sone  as  he  hym  se. 

20.  Out  at  the  durre  he  ran, 

Fful  sone  and  anon  ; 
Alle  the  gatis  of  Notyngham 

He  made  to  be  sparred  everychon. 


80  BALLADS. 

21.  'Rise  up,'  he  seid,  'thou  prowde  schereff, 

Buske  the  and  make  the  bowne  ; 
I  have  spyed  the  kynggis  felon, 
Ffor  sothe  he  is  in  this  town. 

22.  'I  have  spyed  the  false  felon, 

As  he  stondis  at  his  masse ; 
Hit  is  long  of  the,'  seide  the  munke, 
'And  ever  he  fro  us  passe. 

23.  '  This  traytur  name  is  Robyn  Hode, 

Under  the  grene-wode  lynde  ; 
He  robbyt  me  onys  of  a  hundred  pound, 
Hit  shalle  never  out  of  my  mynde.' 

24.  Up  then  rose  this  prowde  shereff, 

And  radly  made  hym  yare  ; 
Many  was  the  moder  son 

To  the  kyrk  with  hym  can  fare. 

25.  In  at  the  durres  thei  throly  thrast, 

With  staves  ful  gode  wone  ; 

'  Alas,  alas  ! '  seid  Robyn  Hode, 

'  Now  mysse  I  Litull  John.' 

26.  But  Robyn  toke  out  a  too-hond  sworde, 

That  hangit  down  be  his  kne  ; 
Ther  as  the  schereff  and  his  men  stode  thyckust, 
Thedurwarde  wolde  he. 

27.  Thryes  thorowout  them  he  ran  then 

For  sothe  as  I  yow  sey, 
And  woundyt  mony  a  moder  son, 
And  twelve  he  slew  that  day, 


BALLADS.  81 

28.  His  sworde  upon  the  schireff  hed 

Sertanly  he  brake  in  too  ; 
'  The  smyth  that  the  made,'  seid  Robyn, 
'  I  pray  God  wyrke  hym  woo. 

29.  'Ffor  now  am  I  weppynlesse,'  seid  Robyn, 

'  Alasse  !  agayn  my  wylle  ; 
But  if  I  may  fle  these  traytors  fro, 
I  wot  thei  wil  me  kyll.' 

30.  Robyn  in  to  the  churche  ran, 

Throout  hem  everilkon, 


31.  Sum  fel  in  swonyng  as  thei  were  dede, 

And  lay  stil  as  any  stone  ; 
Non  of  theym  were  in  her  mynde 
But  only  Litull  Jon. 

32.  'Let  be  your  rule,'  seid  Litull  Jon, 

'  Ffor  his  luf  that  dyed  on  tre, 
Ye  that  shulde  be  dughty  men  ; 
Het  is  gret  shame  to  se. 

33.  'Oure  maister  has  bene  hard  bystode 

And  yet  scapyd  away  ; 
Pluk  up  your  hertis,  and  leve  this  mone, 
And  harkyn  what  I  shal  say. 

34.  '  He  has  servyd  Oure  Lady  many  a  day, 

And  yet  wil,  securly  ; 
Therfor  I  trust  in  hir  specialy 
No  wyckud  deth  shal  he  dye. 


82  BALLADS. 

35.     '  Therfor  be  glad.'  seid  Litul  John, 

'And  let  this  mournyng  be  ; 
And  I  shal  be  the  munkis  gyde, 
With  the  myght  of  mylde  Mary. 

36 

'  We  will  go  but  we  too  ; 
And  I  mete  hym,'  seid  Litul  John, 


37.  '  Loke  that  ye  kepe  wel  owre  tristil-tre, 

Under  the  levys  smale, 
And  spare  non  of  this  venyson, 
That  gose  in  thys  vale.' 

38.  Fforthe  then  went  these  yemen  too, 

Litul  John  and  Moche  on  fere, 
And  lokid  on  Moch  emys  hows, 
The  hye  way  lay  full  nere. 

39.  Litul  John  stode  at  a  wyndow  in  the  mornyng, 

And  lokid  forth  at  a  stage ; 
He  was  war  wher  the  munke  came  ridyng, 
And  with  hym  a  litul  page. 

40.  '  Be  my  feith,'  seid  Litul  John  to  Moch, 

'  I  can  the  tel  tithyngus  gode ; 
I  se  wher  the  munke  cumys  rydyng, 
I  know  hym  be  his  wyde  hode.' 

41.  They  went  in  to  the  way,  these  yemen  bothe, 

As  curtes  men  and  hende ; 
Thei  spyrred  tithyngus  at  the  munke, 
As  they  hade  bene  his  frende. 


BALLADS.  83 

42.  'Ffro  whens  come  ye  ? '  seid  Litull  Jon, 

'Tel  us  tithyngus,  I  yow  pray, 
Off  a  false  owtlay,  callid  Robyn  Hode, 
Was  takyn  yisterday. 

43.  'He  robbyt  me  and  my  felowes  bothe 

Of  twenti  marke  in  serten  ; 
If  that  false  owtlay  be  takyn, 
Ffor  sothe  we  wolde  be  fayn.' 

44.  '  So  did  he  me,'  seid  the  munke, 

'  Of  a  hundred  pound  and  more  ; 
I  layde  furst  hande  hym  apon, 
Ye  may  thonke  me  therfore.' 

45.  'I  pray  God  thanke  you,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'  And  we  wil  when  we  may ; 
We  wil  go  with  you,  with  your  leve, 
And  bryng  yow  on  your  way. 

46.  '  Ffor  Robyn  Hode  hase  many  a  wilde  felow, 

I  tell  you  in  certen ; 
If  thei  wist  ye  rode  this  way, 
In  feith  ye  shulde  be  slayn.' 

47.  As  thei  went  talking  be  the  way, 

The  munke  and  Litull  John, 
John  toke  the  munkis  horse  be  the  hede, 
Fful  sone  and  anon. 

48.  Johne  toke  the  munkis  horse  be  the  hed, 

Ffor  sothe  as  I  yow  say ; 
So  did  Much  the  litull  page, 
Ffor  he  shulde  not  scape  away. 


84  BALLADS. 

49.  Be  the  golett  of  the  hode 

John  pulled  the  munke  down ; 
John  was  nothyng  of  hym  agast, 
He  lete  hym  falle  on  his  crown. 

50.  Litull  John  was  sore  agrevyd, 

And  drew  owt  his  swerde  in  hye ; 
This  munke  saw  he  shulde  be  ded, 
Lowd  mercy  can  he  crye. 

51.  'He  was  my  maister,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'  That  thou  hase  browght  in  bale ; 
Shalle  thou  never  cum  at  our  kyng, 
Ffor  to  telle  hym  tale.' 

52.  John  smote  of  the  munkis  hed, 

No  longer  wolde  he  dwell  ; 
So  did  Moch  the  litull  page, 
Ffor  ferd  lest  he  wolde  tell. 

53.  Ther  thei  beryed  hem  bothe, 

In  nouther  mosse  nor  lyng, 
And  Litull  John  and  Much  infere 
Bare  the  letturs  to  oure  kyng. 

54-     • 

He  knelid  down  upon  his  kne  : 
'God  yow  save,  my  lege  lorde, 
Jhesus  yow  save  and  se  ! 

55.     'God  yow  save,  my  lege  kyng ! ' 

To  speke  John  was  full  bolde ; 
He  gaf  hym  the  letturs  in  his  hond, 
The  kyng  did  hit  unfold. 


BALLADS.  85 

56.  The  kyng  red  the  letturs  anon, 

And  seid,  '  So  mot  I  the, 
Ther  was  never  yoman  in  mery  Inglond 
I  longut  so  sore  to  se. 

57.  'Wher  is  the  munke  that  these  shuld  have 

brought  ? ' 

Oure  kyng  can  say  : 
'Be  my  trouth,'  seid  Litull  John, 
'He  dyed  after  the  way.' 

58.  The  kyng  gaf  Moch  and  Litul  Jon 

Twenti  pound  in  sertan, 
And  made  theim  yemen  of  the  crown, 
And  bade  theim  go  agayn. 

59.  He  gaf  John  the  seel  in  hand, 

The  sheref  for  to  bere, 
To  bryng  Robyn  hym  to, 
And  no  man  do  hym  dere. 

60.  John  toke  his  leve  at  cure  kyng, 

The  sothe  as  I  yow  say ; 
The  next  way  to  Notyngham 
To  take,  he  yede  the  way. 

61.  Whan  John  came  to  Notyngham 

The  gatis  were  sparred  ychon ; 
John  callid  up  the  porter, 
He  answerid  sone  anon. 

62.  'What  is  the  cause,'  seid  Litul  Jon, 

'  Thou  sparris  the  gates  so  fast  ? ' 
'  Because  of  Robyn  Hode/  seid  the  porter, 
'In  depe  prison  is  cast. 


86  BALLADS. 

63.  'John  and  Moch  and  Wyll  Scathlok, 

Ffor  sothe  as  I  yow  say, 
Thei  slew  oure  men  upon  our  wallis, 
And  sawten  us  every  day.' 

64.  Litull  John  spyrred  after  the  schereff, 

And  sone  he  hym  fonde  ; 
He  oppyned  the  kyngus  prive  seell, 
And  gaf  hym  in  his  honde. 

65.  Whan  the  scheref  saw  the  kyngus  seell, 

He  did  of  his  hode  anon  : 
'  Wher  is  the  munke  that  bare  the  letturs  ? ' 
He  seid  to  Litull  John. 

66.  '  He  is  so  fayn  of  hym,'  seid  Litul  John, 

'  Ffor  sothe  as  I  yow  say, 
He  has  made  hym  abot  of  Westmynster, 
A  lorde  of  that  abbay.' 

67.  The  scheref  made  John  gode  chere, 

And  gaf  hym  wyne  of  the  best ; 
At  nyght  thei  went  to  her  bedde, 
And  every  man  to  his  rest. 

68.  When  the  scheref  was  on  slepe, 

Dronken  of  wyne  and  ale, 
Litul  John  and  Moch  for  sothe 
Toke  the  way  unto  the  jale. 

69.  Litul  John  callid  up  the  jayler, 

And  bade  hym  rise  anon  ; 
He  seyd  Robyn  Hode  had  brokyn  prison, 
And  out  of  hit  was  gon. 


BALLADS.  87 

70.  The  porter  rose  anon  sertan, 

As  sone  as  he  herd  John  calle ; 
Litul  John  was  redy  with  a  swerd, 
And  bare  hym  to  the  walle. 

71.  '  Now  wil  I  be  porter,'  seid  Litul  John, 

'And  take  the  keyes  in  honde': 
He  toke  the  way  to  Robyn  Hode, 
And  sone  he  hym  unbonde. 

72.  He  gaf  hym  a  gode  swerd  in  his  hond, 

His  hed  therwith  for  to  kepe, 
And  ther  as  the  walle  was  lowyst 
Anon  down  can  thei  lepe. 

73.  Be  that  the  cok  began  to  crow, 

The  day  began  to  spryng ; 
The  scheref  fond  the  jaylier  ded, 
The  comyn  bell  made  he  ryng. 

74.  He  made  a  crye  thoroout  al  the  town, 

Wheder  he  be  yoman  or  knave, 
That  cowthe  bryng  hym  Robyn  Hode, 
His  warison  he  shuld  have. 

75.  '  Ffor  I  dar  never,'  said  the  scheref, 

'  Cum  before  oure  kyng ; 
Ffor  if  I  do,  I  wot  serten 
Ffor  sothe  he  wil  me  heng.' 

76.  The  scheref  made  to  seke  Notyngham, 

Bothe  be  strete  and  stye, 
And  Robyn  was  in  mery  Scherwode, 
As  light  as  lef  on  lynde. 


S  BALLADS. 

77.  Then  bespake  gode  Litull  John, 

To  Robyn  Hode  can  he  say, 
'  I  have  done  the  a  gode  turn  for  an  evyll, 
Quyte  the  whan  thou  may. 

78.  '  I  have  done  the  a  gode  turne,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'  Ffor  sothe  as  I  yow  say  ; 
I  have  brought  the  under  grene-wode  lyne  ; 
Ffare  wel,  and  have  gode  day.' 

79.  '  Nay,  be  my  trouth,'  seid  Robyn  Hode, 

'  So  shall  hit  never  be  ; 
I  make  the  maister,'  seid  Robyn  Hode, 
'  Off  alle  my  men  and  me.' 

80.  '  Nay,  be  my  trouth,'  seid  Litull  John, 

'  So  shalle  hit  never  be  ; 
But  lat  me  be  a  felow,'  seid  Litull  John, 
'  No  noder  kepe  I  be.' 

8 1 .  Thus  John  gate  Robyn  Hod  out  of  prison, 

Sertan  withoutyn  layn  ; 
Whan  his  men  saw  hym  hoi  and  sounde, 
Ffor  sothe  they  were  full  fayne. 

82.  They  rilled  in  wyne,  and  made  hem  glad, 

Under  the  levys  smale, 

And  gete  pastes  of  venyson, 

That  gode  was  with  ale. 

83.  Than  worde  came  to  oure  kyng 

How  Robyn  Hode  was  gon, 
And  how  the  scheref  of  Notyngham 
Durst  never  loke  hym  upon. 


BALLADS.  89 

84.  Then  bespake  oure  cumly  kyng, 

In  an  angur  hye  : 

'  Litull  John  hase  begyled  the  schereff, 
In  faith  so  hase  he  me. 

85.  '  Litul  John  has  begyled  us  bothe, 

And  that  full  wel  I  se  ; 
Or  ellis  the  schereff  of  Notyngham 
Hye  hongut  shulde  he  be. 

86.  '  I  made  hem  yemen  of  the  crowne, 

And  gaf  hem  fee  with  my  hond  ; 
I  gaf  hem  grith,'  seid  oure  kyng, 
'  Thorowout  all  mery  Inglond. 

87.  'I  gaf  theym  grith,'  then  seid  oure  kyng; 

'  I  say,  so  mot  I  the, 
Ffor  sothe  soch  a  yeman  as  he  is  on 
In  all  Inglond  ar  not  thre. 

88.  '  He  is  trew  to  his  maister,'  seid  our  kyng; 

'  I  sey,  be  swete  Seynt  John, 
He  lovys  better  Robyn  Hode 
Then  he  dose  us  ychon. 

89.  '  Robyn  Hode  is  ever  bond  to  hym, 

Bothe  in  strete  and  stalle ; 
Speke  no  more  of  this  mater,'  seid  oure  kyng, 
'  But  John  has  begyled  us  alle.' 

90.  Thus  endys  the  talkyng  of  the  munke 

And  Robyn  Hode  i-wysse ; 
God,  that  is  ever  a  crowned  kyng, 
Bryng  us  all  to  his  blisse ! 


90  BALLADS. 


ROBIN    HOOD'S    DEATH. 

1.  'I  WILL  never  eate  nor  drinke,'  Robin  Hood  said, 

'  Nor  meate  will  doo  me  noe  good, 
Till  I  have  beene  att  merry  Churchlees, 
My  vaines  for  to  let  blood.' 

2.  'That  I  reade  not,'  said  Will  Scarllett, 

'  Master,  by  the  assente  of  me, 
Without  halfe  a  hundred  of  your  best  bowmen 
You  take  to  goe  with  yee. 

3.  '  For  there  a  good  yeoman  doth  abide 

Will  be  sure  to  quarrell  with  thee, 
And  if  thou  have  need  of  us,  master, 
In  faith  we  will  not  flee.' 

4.  '  And  thou  be  feard,  thou  William  Scarlett, 

Att  home  I  read  thee  bee ' : 
'  And  you  be  wrothe,  my  deare  master, 
You  shall  never  heare  more  of  mee.' 

5.  '  For  there  shall  noe  man  with  mee  goe, 

Nor  man  with  mee  ryde, 
And  Litle  John  shall  be  my  man, 
And  beare  my  benbow  by  my  side.' 

6.  '  You'st  beare  your  bowe,  master,  your  selfe, 

And  shoote  for  a  peny  with  mee ' : 
'To  that  I  doe  assent,'  Robin  Hood  sayd, 
'  And  soe,  John,  lett  it  bee.' 


BALLADS.  91 

7.  They  two  bolde  children  shotten  together, 

All  day  theire  selfe  in  ranke, 
Untill  they  came  to  blacke  water, 
And  over  it  laid  a  planke. 

8.  Upon  it  there  kneeled  an  old  woman, 

Was  banning  Robin  Hoode  ; 
'  Why  dost  thou  bann  Robin  Hood  ? '  said  Robin, 


'  To  give  to  Robin  Hoode  ; 
Wee  weepen  for  his  deare  body, 
That  this  day  must  be  lett  bloode.' 

10.     '  The  dame  prior  is  my  aunt's  daughter, 

And  nie  unto  my  kinne ; 
I  know  shee  wold  me  noe  harme  this  day, 
For  all  the  world  to  winne.' 

n.     Forth  then  shotten  these  children  two, 

And  they  did  never  lin, 
Untill  they  came  to  merry  Churchlees, 
To  merry  Churchlees  with-in. 

12.  And  when  they  came  to  merry  Churchlees, 

They  knoced  upon  a  pin ; 
Upp  then  rose  dame  prioresse, 
And  lett  good  Robin  in. 

13.  Then  Robin  gave  to  dame  prioresse 

Twenty  pound  in  gold, 
And  bad  her  spend  while  that  wold  last, 
And  shee  shold  have  more  when  shee  wold. 


92  BALLADS. 

14.  And  downe  then  came  dame  prioresse, 

Downe  she  came  in  that  ilke, 
With  a  pair  off  blood-irons  in  her  hands, 
Were  wrapped  all  in  silke. 

15.  '  Sett  a  chaffing-dish  to  the  fyer,'  said  dame 

prioresse, 

'  And  stripp  thou  up  thy  sleeve  ' : 
I  hold  him  but  an  unwise  man 
That  will  noe  warning  leeve. 

1 6.  Shee  laid  the  blood-irons  to  Robin  Hood's  vaine, 

Alacke,  the  more  pitye  ! 
And  pearct  the  vaine,  and  let  out  the  bloode, 
That  full  red  was  to  see. 

17.  And  first  it  bled,  the  thicke,  thicke  bloode, 

And  afterwards  the  thinne, 
And  well  then  wist  good  Robin  Hoode 
Treason  there  was  within. 

1 8.  '  What  cheere  my  master  ? '  said  Litle  John  ; 

'  In  faith,  John,  litle  goode  ' ; 


19.  'I  have  upon  a  gowne  of  greene, 

Is  cut  short  by  my  knee, 
And  in  my  hand  a  bright  browne  brand 
That  will  well  bite  of  the.' 

20.  But  forth  then  of  a  shot-windowe 

Good  Robin  Hood  he  could  glide ; 
Red  Roger,  with  a  grounden  glave, 

Thrust  him  through  the  milk-white  side. 


BALLADS.  93 

21.  But  Robin  was  light  and  nimble  of  foote, 

And  thought  to  abate  his  pride, 
Ffor  betwixt  his  head  and  his  shoulders 
He  made  a  wound  full  wide. 

22.  Says,  '  Ly  there,  ly  there,  Red  Roger, 

The  doggs  they  must  thee  eate ; 

For  I  may  have  my  houzle,'  he  said, 

'  For  I  may  both  goe  and  speake. 

23.  '  Now  give  me  mood,'  Robin  said  to  Litle  John, 

'  Give  me  mood  with  thy  hand ; 
I  trust  to  God  in  heaven  soe  hye 
My  houzle  will  me  bestand.' 

24.  '  Now  give  me  leave,  give  me  leave,  master,'  he 

said, 

'  For  Christ's  love  give  leave  to  me, 
To  set  a  fier  within  this  hall, 
And  to  burn  up  all  Churchlee.' 

25.  'That  I  reade  not,'  said  Robin  Hoode  then, 

'  Litle  John,  for  it  may  not  be  ; 
If  I  shold  doe  any  widow  hurt,  at  my  latter  end, 
God,'  he  said  '  wold  blame  me ; 

26.  '  But  take  me  upon  thy  backe,  Litle  John, 

And  beare  me  to  yonder  streete, 
And  there  make  me  a  full  fayre  grave, 
Of  gravell  and  of  greete. 

27.  'And  sett  my  bright  sword  at  my  head, 

Mine  arrowes  at  my  feete, 
And  lay  my  vew-bow  by  my  side, 
My  met-yard  wi  . 


94  BALLADS. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   OTTERBURN. 

1.  YT  felle  abowght  the  Lamasse  tyde, 

Whan  husbondes  Wynnes  ther  haye, 
The  dowghtye  Dowglasse  bowynd  hym  to  ryde, 
In  Ynglond  to  take  a  praye. 

2.  The  yerlle  of  Fyffe,  wythowghten  stryffe, 

He  bowynd  hym  over  Sulway ; 
The  grete  wolde  ever  to-gether  ryde  ; 
That  raysse  they  may  rewe  for  aye. 

3.  Over  Hoppertope  hyll  they  cam  in, 

And  so  down  by  Rodclyffe  crage  ; 
Upon  Grene  Lynton  they  lyghted  dowyn, 
Styrande  many  a  stage. 

4.  And  boldely  brente  Northomberlond, 

And  haryed  many  a  towyn  ; 
They  dyd  owr  Ynglyssh  men  grete  wrange, 
To  battell  that  were  not  bowyn. 

5.  Than  spake  a  berne  upon  the  bent, 

Of  comforte  that  was  not  colde, 
And  sayd,  '  We  have  brente  Northomberlond, 
We  have  all  welth  in  holde. 

6.  'Now  we  have  haryed  all  Bamborowe  schyre, 

All  the  welth  in  the  world  have  wee ; 
I  rede  we  ryde  to  Newe  Castell, 
So  styll  and  stalworthlye.' 


BALLADS.  95 

7.  Upon  the  morowe,  when  it  was  day, 

The  standerds  scheme  fulle  bryght ; 
To  the  Newe  Castell  the  toke  the  waye, 
And  thether  they  cam  fulle  ryght. 

8.  Syr  Henry  Perssy  laye  at  the  New  Castell, 

I  tell  yow  wythowtten  drede  ; 
He  had  byn  a  march-man  all  hys  dayes, 
And  kepte  Barwyke  upon  Twede. 

9.  To  the  Newe  Castell  when  they  cam, 

The  Skottes  they  cryde  on  hyght, 
'  Syr  Hary  Perssy,  and  thow  byste  within, 
Com  to  the  fylde,  and  fyght. 

10.  '  For  we  have  brente  Northomberlonde, 

Thy  erytage  good  and  ryght, 
And  syne  my  logeyng  I  have  take, 

Wyth  my  brande  dubbyd  many  a  knyght.' 

11.  Syr  Harry  Perssy  cam  to  the  walles, 

The  Skottyssch  oste  for  to  se, 

And  sayd,  'And  thow  hast  brente  Northomberlond, 
Full  sore  it  rewyth  me. 

12.  '  Yf  thou  hast  haryed  all  Bamborowe  schyre, 

Thow  hast  done  me  grete  envye  ; 
For  the  trespasse  thow  hast  me  done, 
The  tone  of  us  schall  dye.' 

13.  'Where  schall  I  byde  the? '  sayd  the  Dowglas, 

'  Or  where  wylte  thow  com  to  me  ? ' 
'  At  Otterborne,  in  the  hygh  way, 
Ther  mast  thow  well  logeed  be. 


96  BALLADS. 

1 4.  '  The  roo  full  rekeles  ther  sche  rinnes, 

To  make  the  game  and  glee ; 
The  fawken  and  the  fesaunt  both, 
Amonge  the  holtes  on  hye. 

15.  'Ther  mast  thow  have  thy  welth  at  wyll, 

Well  looged  ther  mast  be  ; 
Yt  schall  not  be  long  or  I  com  the  tyll,' 
Sayd  Syr  Harry  Perssye. 

1 6.  'Ther  schall  I  byde  the,'  sayd  the  Dowglas, 

'  By  the  fayth  of  my  bodye  ' : 
'Thether  schall  I  com,'  sayd  Syr  Harry  Perssy 
'  My  trowth  I  plyght  to  the.' 

17.  A  pype  of  wyne  he  gave  them  over  the  walles, 

For  soth  as  I  yow  saye  ; 
Ther  he  mayd  the  Dowglasse  drynke, 
And  all  hys  ost  that  daye. 

1 8.  The  Dowglas  turn  yd  hym  homewarde  agayne, 

For  soth  withowghten  naye  ; 
He  toke  his  logeyng  at  Oterborne, 
Upon  a  Wedynsday. 

19.  And  ther  he  pyght  hys  standerd  dowyn, 

Hys  gettyng  more  and  lesse, 
And  syne  he  warned  hys  men  to  goo 
To  chose  ther  geldynges  gresse. 

20.  A  Skottysshe  knyght  hoved  upon  the  bent, 

A  wache  I  dare  well  saye  ; 
So  was  he  ware  on  the  noble  Perssy 
In  the  dawnyng  of  the  daye. 


BALLADS.  97 

21.  He  prycked  to  hys  pavyleon  dore, 

As  faste  as  he  myght  ronne  ; 
'  Awaken,  Dowglas,'  cryed  the  knyght, 
'  For  hys  love  that  syttes  in  trone. 

22.  'Awaken,  Dowglas,'  cryed  the  knyght, 

'  For  thow  maste  waken  wyth  wynne  ; 
Vender  have  I  spyed  the  prowde  Perssye, 
And  seven  stondardes  wyth  hym.' 

23.  'Nay  by  my  trowth,'  the  Dowglas  sayed, 

'  It  ys  but  a  fayned  taylle  ; 
He  durst  not  loke  on  my  brede  banner 
For  all  Ynglonde  so  haylle. 

24.  'Was  I  not  yesterdaye  at  the  Newe  Castell, 

That  stondes  so  fayre  on  Tyne  ? 
For  all  the  men  the  Perssy  had, 

He  coude  not  garre  me  ones  to  dyne.' 

25.  He  stepped  owt  at  his  pavelyon  dore, 

To  loke  and  it  were  lesse  : 
'  Araye  yow,  lordynges,  one  and  all, 
For  here  bygynnes  no  peysse. 

26.  'The  yerle  of  Mentaye,  thow  arte  my  erne, 

The  fowarde  I  gyve  to  the  : 
The  yerlle  of  Huntlay,  cawte  and  kene, 
He  schall  be  wyth  the. 

27.  'The  lorde  of  Bowghan,  in  armure  bryght, 

On  the  other  hand  he  schall  be  ; 
Lord  Jhonstoune  and  Lorde  Maxwell, 
They  to  schall  be  with  me. 


98  BALLADS. 

28.  '  Swynton,  fayre  fylde  upon  your  pryde  ! 

To  batell  make  yow  bowen 
Syr  Davy  Skotte,  Syr  Water  Stewarde, 
Syr  Jhon  of  Agurstone  ! ' 

29.  The  Perssy  cam  byfore  hys  oste, 

Wych  was  ever  a  gentyll  knyght ; 

Upon  the  Dowglas  lowde  can  he  crye, 

'  I  wyll  holde  that  I  have  hyght. 

30.  '  For  thou  haste  brente  Northomberlonde, 

And  done  me  grete  envye  ; 
For  thys  trespasse  thou  hast  me  done, 
The  tone  of  us  schall  dye.' 

31.  The  Dowglas  answerde  hym  agayne, 

Wyth  grett  wurdes  upon  hye, 
And  sayd,  '  I  have  twenty  agaynst  thy  one, 
Byholde,  and  thou  maste  see.' 

32.  Wyth  that  the  Perssy  was  grevyd  sore, 

For  soth  as  I  yow  saye  ; 
He  lyghted  dowyn  upon  his  foote, 
And  schoote  hys  horsse  clene  awaye. 

33.  Every  man  sawe  that  he  dyd  soo, 

That  ryall  was  ever  in  rowght ; 
Every  man  schoote  hys  horsse  hym  froo, 
And  lyght  hym  rowynde  abowght. 

34.  Thus  Syr  Hary  Perssye  toke  the  fylde, 

For  soth  as  I  yow  saye  ; 
Jhesu  Cryste  in  hevyn  on  hyght 
Dyd  helpe  hym  well  that  daye. 


BALLADS.  99 

35.  But  nyne  thowzand,  ther  was  no  moo, 

The  cronykle  wyll  not  layne  ; 
Forty  thowsande  of  Skottes  and  fowre 
That  day  fowght  them  agayne. 

36.  But  when  the  batell  byganne  to  joyne, 

In  hast  ther  cam  a  knyght ; 
The  letters  fayre  furth  hath  he  tayne, 
And  thus  he  sayd  full  ryght  : 

37.  '  My  lorde  your  father  he  gretes  yow  well, 

Wyth  many  a  noble  knyght ; 
He  desyres  yow  to  byde 

That  he  may  see  thys  fyght. 

38.  '  The  Baron  of  Grastoke  ys  com  out  of  the  west, 

With  hym  a  noble  companye  ; 
All  they  loge  at  your  fathers  thys  nyght, 
And  the  batell  fayne  wolde  they  see.' 

39.  '  For  Jhesus  love,'  sayd  Syr  Harye  Perssy, 

'  That  dyed  for  yow  and  me, 
Wende  to  my  lorde  my  father  agayne, 
And  saye  thow  sawe  me  not  with  yee. 

40.  '  My  trowth  ys  plyght  to  yonne  Skottysh  knyght, 

It  nedes  me  not  to  layne, 
That  I  schulde  byde  hym  upon  thys  bent, 
And  I  have  hys  trowth  agayne. 

41.     'And  if  that  I  weynde  of  thys  growende, 

For  soth,  onfowghten  awaye, 
He  wolde  me  call  but  a  kowarde  knyght 
In  hys  londe  another  daye. 


100  BALLADS. 

42.  '  Yet  had  I  lever  to  be  rynde  and  rente, 

By  Mary,  that  mykkel  maye, 
Then  ever  my  manhood  schulde  be  reprovyd 
Wyth  a  Skotte  another  daye. 

43.  'Wherefore  schote,  archars,  for  my  sake, 

And  let  scharpe  arowes  flee  ; 
Mynstrells,  playe  up  for  your  waryson, 
And  well  quyt  it  schall  bee. 

44.  '  Every  man  thynke  on  hys  trewe-love, 

And  marke  hym  to  the  Trenite  ; 
For  to  God  I  make  myne  avowe 
Thys  day  wyll  I  not  flee.' 

45.  The  blodye  harte  in  the  Dowglas  armes, 

Hys  standerde  stood  on  hye, 
That  every  man  myght  full  well  knowe  ; 
By  syde  stode  starres  thre. 

46.  The  whyte  lyon  on  the  Ynglyssh  perte, 

For  soth  as  I  yow  sayne, 
The  lucettes  and  the  cressawntes  both  • 
The  Skottes  faught  them  agayne. 

47.  Upon  Sent  Androwe  lowde  can  they  crye, 

And  thrysse  they  schowte  on  hyght, 
And  syne  merked  them  one  owr  Ynglysshe  men, 
As  I  have    olde  yow  ryght. 

48.  Sent  George  the  bryght,  owr  ladyes  knyght, 

To  name  they  were  full  fayne ; 
Owr  Ynglyssh  men  they  cryde  on  hyght, 
And  thrysse  the  schowtte  agayne. 


BALLADS.  101 

49.  Wyth  that  scharpe  arowes  bygan  to  flee, 

I  tell  yow  in  sertayne  ; 
Men  of  armes  byganne  to  joyne, 

Many  a  dowghty  man  was  ther  slayne. 

50.  The  Perssy  and  the  Dowglas  mette, 

That  ether  of  other  was  fayne  ; 
They  swapped  together  whyll  that  the  swette, 
Wyth  swordes  of  fyne  collayne  : 

51.  Tyll  the  bloode  from  ther  bassonnettes  ranne, 

As  the  roke  doth  in  the  rayne  ; 
'  Yelde  the  to  me,'  sayd  the  Dowglas, 
'Or  elles  thow  schalt  be  slayne. 

52.  '  For  I  see  by  thy  bryght  bassonet, 

Thow  arte  sum  man  of  myght ; 
And  so  I  do  by  thy  burnysshed  brande ; 
Thow  arte  an  yerle,  or  elles  a  knyght.' 

53.  'By  my  good  faythe,'  sayd  the  noble  Perssye, 

'  Now  haste  thou  rede  full  ryght ; 
Yet  wyll  I  never  yelde  me  to  the, 
Whyll  I  may  stonde  and  fyght.' 

54.  They  swapped  together  whyll  that  they  swette, 

Wyth  swordes  scharpe  and  long ; 
Ych  on  other  so  faste  thee  beetle, 

Tyll  ther  helmes  cam  in  peyses  dowyn. 

55.  The  Perssy  was  a  man  of  strenghth, 

I  tell  yow  in  thys  stounde  ; 
He  smote  the  Dowglas  at  the  swordes  length 
That  he  fell  to  the  growynde. 


102  BALLADS. 

56.  The  sworde  was  scharpe,  and  sore  can  byte, 

I  tell  yow  in  sertayne  ; 
To  the  harte  he  cowde  hym  smyte, 
Thus  was  the  Dowglas  slayne. 

57.  The  stonderdes  stode  styll  on  eke  a  syde, 

Wyth  many  a  grevous  grone  ; 
Ther  the  fowght  the  day,  and  all  the  nyght, 
And  many  a  dowghty  man  was  slayne. 

58.  Ther  was  no  freke  that  ther  wolde  flye, 

But  styffely  in  stowre  can  stond, 
Ychone  hewyng  on  other  whyll  they  myght  drye, 
Wyth  many  a  bayllefull  bronde. 

59.  Ther  was  slayne  upon  the  Skottes  syde, 

For  soth  and  sertenly, 
Syr  James  a  Dowglas  ther  was  slayne, 
That  day  that  he  cowde  dye. 

60.  The  yerlle  of  Mentaye  he  was  slayne, 

Grysely  groned  upon  the  growynd ; 
Syr  Davy  Skotte,  Syr  Water  Stewarde, 
Syr  Jhon  of  Agurstoune. 

61.  Syr  Charlies  Morrey  in  that  place, 

That  never  a  fote  wold  flee ; 
Syr  Hewe  Maxwell,  a  lord  he  was, 
Wyth  the  Dowglas  dyd  he  dye. 

62.  Ther  was  slayne  upon  the  Skottes  syde, 

For  soth  as  I  yow  saye, 
Of  fowre  and  forty  thowsande  Scottes 
Went  but  eyghtene  awaye. 


BALLADS.  103 

63.  Ther  was  slayne  upon  the  Ynglysshe  syde, 

For  soth  and  sertenlye, 
A  gentell  knyght,  Syr  Jhon  Fechewe, 
Yt  was  the  more  pety. 

64.  Syr  James  Hardbotell  ther  was  slayne, 

For  hym  ther  hartes  were  sore ; 

The  gentyll  Lovell  ther  was  slayne, 

That  the  Perssys  standerd  bore. 

65.  Ther  was  slayne  upon  the  Ynglyssh  perte, 

For  soth  as  I  yow  saye, 
Of  nyne  thowsand  Ynglyssh  men 
Fyve  hondert  cam  awaye. 

66.  The  other  were  slayne  in  the  fylde ; 

Cryste  kepe  ther  sowlles  from  wo  ! 
Seyng  ther  was  so  fewe  fryndes 
Agaynst  so  many  a  foo. 

67.  Then  on  the  morne  they  mayde  them  beerys 

Of  byrch  and  haysell  graye ; 
Many  a  wydowe,  wyth  wepyng  teyres, 
Ther  makes  they  fette  awaye. 

68.  Thys  fraye  bygan  at  Otterborne, 

Bytwene  the  nyght  and  the  day ; 
Ther  the  Dowglas  lost  hys  lyffe, 
And  the  Perssy  was  lede  awaye. 

69.  Then  was  ther  a  Scottysh  prisoner  tayne, 

Syr  Hewe  Mongomery  was  hys  name  ; 
For  soth  as  I  yow  saye, 

He  borowed  the  Perssy  home  agayne. 


104  BALLADS. 

70.     Now  let  us  all  for  the  Perssy  praye 

To  Jhesu  most  of  myght, 
To  bryng  hys  sowlle  to  the  blysse  of  heven, 
For  he  was  a  gentyll  knyght. 


BALLADS.  105 


THE   HUNTING    OF   THE    CHEVIOT. 

1.  The  Perse  owt  off  Northombarlonde, 

and  avowe  to  God  mayd  he 
That  he  wold  hunte  in  the  mowntayns 

off  Chyviat  within  days  thre, 
In  the  magger  of  doughte  Dogles, 

and  all  that  ever  with  him  be. 

2.  The  fattiste  hartes  in  all  Cheviat 

he  sayd  he  wold  kyll,  and  cary  them  away  : 
'  Be  my  feth,'  sayd  the  dougheti  Doglas  agayn, 
'  I  wyll  let  that  hontyng  yf  that  I  may.' 

3.  Then  the  Perse  owt  off  Banborowe  cam, 

with  him  a  myghtee  meany, 
With  fifteen  hondrith  archares  bold  off  blood  and 

bone; 
the  wear  chosen  owt  of  shyars  thre. 

4.  This  begane  on  a  Monday  at  morn, 

in  Cheviat  the  h^llys  so  he  ; 
The  chylde  may  rue  that  ys  unborn, 
it  wos  the  more  pitte. 

5.  The  dryvars  thorowe  the  woodes  went, 

for  to  reas  the  dear  ; 
Bomen  byckarte  uppone  the  bent 
with  ther  browd  aros  deare. 


106  BALLADS. 

6.  Then  the  wyld  thorowe  the  woodes  went, 

on  every  syde  shear ; 
Greahondes  thorowe  the  grevis  glent, 
for  to  kyll  thear  dear. 

7.  This  begane  in  Chyviat  the  hyls  abone, 

yerly  on  a  Monnyn-day  ; 
Be  that  it  drewe  to  the  oware  off  none, 
a  hondrith  fat  hartes  ded  ther  lay. 

j 

8.  The  blewe  a  mort  uppone  the  bent, 

the  semblyde  on  sydis  shear ; 
To  the  quyrry  then  the  Perse  went, 
to  se  the  bryttlynge  off  the  deare. 

9.  He  sayd,  '  It  was  the  Duglas  promys 

this  day  to  met  me  hear ; 
But  I  wyste  he  wolde  faylle,  verament ; ' 
a  great  oth  the  Perse  swear. 

10.  At  the  laste  a  squyar  off  Northomberlonde 

lokyde  at  his  hand  full  ny ; 
He  was  war  a  the  doughetie  Doglas  commynge, 
with  him  a  myghtte  meany. 

1 1 .  Both  with  spear,  bylle,  and  brande, 

yt  was  a  myghtti  sight  to  se  ; 
Hardyar  men,  both  off  hart  nor  hande, 
wear  not  in  Cristiante. 

12.  The  wear  twenti  hondrith  spear-men  good, 

withoute  any  feale  ; 

The  wear  borne  along  be  the  watter  a  Twyde, 
yth  bowndes  of  Tividale. 


BALLADS.  107 

13.  'Leave  of  the  brytlyng  of  the  dear,'  he  sayd, 

'  and  to  your  boys  lock  ye  tayk  good  hede ; 
For  never  sithe  ye  wear  on  your  mothars  borne 
had  ye  never  so  mickle  nede.' 

14.  The  dougheti  Dogglas  on  a  stede, 

he  rode  alle  his  men  beforne ; 
His  armor  glytteryde  as  dyd  a  glede ; 
a  boldar  barne  was  never  born. 

15.  '  Tell  me  whos  men  ye  ar,'  he  says, 

'  or  whos  men  that  ye  be  : 
Who  gave  youe  leave  to  hunte  in  this  Chyviat 

chays, 
in  the  spyt  of  myn  and  of  me.' 

1 6.  The  first  mane  that  ever  him  an  answear  mayd, 

yt  was  the  good  lord  Perse  : 
'We  wyll  not  tell  the  whoys  men  we  ar,'  he  says, 

1  nor  whos  men  that  we  be  ; 
But  we  wyll  hounte  hear  in  this  chays, 

in  the  spyt  of  thyne  and  of  the. 

17.  '  The  fattiste  hartes  in  all  Chyviat 

we  have  kyld,  and  cast  to  carry  them  away  : 
'  Be  my  troth,'  sayd  the  doughete  Dogglas  agayn, 
'  therfor  the  ton  of  us  shall  de  this  day.' 

1 8.  Then  sayd  the  doughte  Doglas 

unto  the  lord  Perse  : 
'  To  kyll  alle  thes  giltles  men, 
alas,  it  wear  great  pitte  ! 

19.  '  But,  Perse,  thowe  art  a  lord  of  lande, 

I  am  a  yerle  callyd  within  my  centre  ; 
Let  all  our  men  uppone  a  parti  stande, 
and  do  the  battell  off  the  and  of  me.' 


108  BALLADS. 

20.  '  Nowe  Cristes  cors  on  his  crowne,'  sayd  the  lord 

Perse, 

'  who-so-ever  ther-to  says  nay ; 
Be  my  troth,  doughtte  Doglas,'  he  says, 
'  thow  shalt  never  se  that  day. 

21.  '  Nethar  in  Ynglonde,  Skottlonde,  nar  France, 

nor  for  no  man  of  a  woman  born, 
But,  and  fortune  be  my  chance, 
I  dar  met  him,  on  man  for  on.' 

22.  Then  bespayke  a  squyar  off  Northombarlonde, 

Richard  Wytharyngton  was  his  nam  : 
'It  shall  never  be  told  in  Sothe-Ynglonde,'  he 

says, 
•  '  to  Kyng  Kerry  the  Fourth  for  sham. 

23.  'I  wat  youe  byn  great  lorde's  twaw, 

I  am  a  poor  squyar  of  lande  : 
I  wylle  never  se  my  captayne  fyght  on  a  fylde, 

and  stande  my  selffe  and  loocke  on, 
But  whylle  I  may  my  weppone  welde, 

I  wylle  not  fayle  both  hart  and  hande.' 

24.  That  day,  that  day,  that  dredfull  day  ! 

the  first  fit  here  I  fynde  ; 
And  youe  wyll  here  any  mor  a  the  hountyng  a  the 

Chyviat, 
yet  ys  ther  mor  behynde. 


25.     The  Yngglyshe  men  hade  ther  bowys  yebent, 

ther  hartes  wer  good  yenoughe  ; 
The  first  off  arros  that  the  shote  off, 
seven  skore  spear-men  the  sloughe. 


BALLADS.  109 

26.  Yet  byddys  the  yerle  Doglas  uppon  the  bent, 

a  captayne  good  yenoughe, 
And  that  was  sene  verament, 

for  he  wrought  horn  both  woo  and  wouche. 

27.  The  Dogglas  partyd  his  ost  in  thre, 

lyk  a  cheffe  cheften  off  pryde  ; 
With  suar  spears  off  myghtte  tre, 
the  cum  in  on  every  syde  : 

28.  Thrughe  our  Yngglyshe  archery 

gave  many  a  wounde  fulle  wyde  ; 
Many  a  doughete  the  garde  to  dy, 
which  ganyde  them  no  pryde. 

29.  The  Ynglyshe  men  let  ther  boys  be, 

and  pulde  owt  brandes  that  wer  brighte ; 
It  was  a  hevy  syght  to  se 

bryght  swordes  on  basnites  lyght. 

30.  Thorowe  ryche  male  and  myneyeple, 

many  sterne  the  strocke  done  streght ; 
Many  a  freyke  that  was  fulle  fre, 
ther  undar  foot  dyd  lyght. 

31.  At  last  the  Duglas  and  the  Perse  met, 

lyk  to  captayns  of  myght  and  of  mayne  ; 
The  swapte  togethar  tylle  the  both  swat, 
with  swordes  that  wear  of  fyn  myllan. 

32.  Thes  worthe  freckys  for  to  fyght, 

ther-to  the  wear  fulle  fayne, 

Tylle  the  bloode  owte  off  thear  basnetes  sprente, 
as  ever  dyd  heal  or  rayn. 


110  BALLADS. 

33.  'Yelde  the,  Perse,'  sayde  the  Doglas, 

'  and  i  feth  I  shalle  the  brynge 
Wher  thowe  shalte  have  a  yerls  wagis 
of  Jamy  our  Skottish  kynge. 

34.  '  Thou  shalte  have  thy  ransom  fre, 

I  hight  the  hear  this  thinge ; 
For  the  manfullyste  man  yet  art  thowe 
that  ever  I  conqueryd  in  filde  fighttynge.' 

35.  'Nay,'  sayd  the  lord  Perse, 

'  I  tolde  it  the  beforne, 
That  I  wolde  never  yeldyde  be 
to  no  man  of  a  woman  born.' 

36.  With  that  ther  cam  an  arrowe  hastely, 

forthe  off  a  myghtte  wane ; 
Hit  hathe  strekene  the  yerle  Duglas 
in  at  the  brest-bane. 

37.  Thorowe  lyvar  and  longes  bathe 

the  sharpe  arrowe  ys  gane, 
That  never  after  in  all  his  lyffe-days 

he  spayke  mo  worde's  but  ane  : 
That  was,'  Fyghte  ye,  my  myrry  men,  whyllys  ye  may, 

for  my  lyff-days  ben  gan.' 

38.  The  Perse  leanyde  on  his  brande, 

and  sawe  the  Duglas  de ; 
He  tooke  the  dede  mane  by  the  hande, 
and  sayd,  '  Wo  ys  me  for  the  ! 

39.  '  To  have  savyde  thy  lyffe,  I  wolde  have  partyde  with 

my  landes  for  years  thre, 
For  a  better  man,  of  hart  nare  of  hande, 
was  nat  in  all  the  north  contre'.' 


BALLADS.  Ill 

40.  Off  all  that  se  a  Skottishe  knyght, 

was  callyd  Ser  Hewe  the  Monggombyrry  ; 
He  sawe  the  Duglas  to  the  deth  was  dyght, 
he  spendyd  a  spear,  a  trusti  tre. 

41.  He  rod  uppone  a  corsiare 

throughe  a  hondrith  archery  : 
He  never  stynttyde,  nar  never  blane, 
tylle  he  cam  to  the  good  lord  Perse. 

42.  He  set  uppone  the  lorde  Perse 

a  dynte  that  was  full  soare  ; 
With  a  suar  spear  of  a  myghtte  tre 

clean  thorow  the  body  he  the  Perse  ber, 

43.  A  the  tothar  syde  that  a  man  myght  se 

a  large  cloth-yard  and  mare  : 
Towe  bettar  captayns  wear  nat  in  Cristiante 
then  that  day  slan  wear  ther. 

44.  An  archar  off  Northomberlonde 

say  slean  was  the  lord  Perse ; 
He  bar  a  bende  bowe  in  his  hand, 
was  made  off  trusti  tre. 

45.  An  arow,  that  a  cloth-yarde  was  lang, 

to  the  harde  stele  halyde  he  ; 
A  dynt  that  was  both  sad  and  soar 

he  sat  on  Ser  Hewe  the  Monggombyrry. 

46.  The  dynt  yt  was  both  sad  and  sar, 

that  he  of  Monggomberry  sete  ; 
The  swane-fethars  that  his  arrowe  bar 
with  his  hart-blood  the  wear  wete. 


112  BALLADS. 

47.  Ther  was  never  a  freake  wone  foot  wolde  fle, 

but  still  in  stour  dyd  stand, 
Heawyng  on  yche  othar,  whylle  the  myghte  dre, 
with  many  a  balfull  brande. 

48.  This  battell  begane  in  Chyviat 

an  owar  befor  the  none, 
And  when  even-songe  bell  was  rang, 
the  battell  was  nat  half  done. 

49.  The  tocke  ...  on  ethar  hande 

be  the  lyght  off  the  mone ; 
Many  hade  no  strenght  for  to  stande, 
in  Chyviat  the  hillys  abon. 

50.  Of  fifteen  hondrith  archars  of  Ynglonde 

went  away  but  seventi  and  thre ; 
Of  twenti  hondrith  spear-men  of  Skotlonde, 
but  even  five  and  fifti. 

51.  But  all  wear  slayne  Cheviat  within  ; 

the  hade  no  strengthe  to  stand  on  hy ; 
The  chylde  may  rue  that  ys  unborne, 
it  was  the  mor  pitte. 

52.  Thear  was  slayne,  withe  the  lord  Perse, 

Sir  Johan  of  Agerstone, 
Ser  Rogar,  the  hinde  Hartly, 

Ser  Wyllyam,  the  bolde  Hearone. 

53.  Ser  Jorg,  the  worthe  Loumle, 

a  knyghte  of  great  renowen, 
Ser  Raff,  the  ryche  Rugbe, 

with  dyntes  wear  beaten  dowene. 


BALLADS.  113 

54.  For  Wetharryngton  my  harte  was  wo, 

that  ever  he  slayne  shulde  be ; 
For  when  both  his  leggis  wear  hewyne  in  to, 
yet  he  knyled  and  fought  on  hys  kny. 

55.  Ther  was  slayne,  with  the  dougheti  Duglas, 

Ser  Hewe  the  Monggombyrry, 
Ser  Davy  Lwdale,  that  worthe  was, 
his  sistar's  son  was  he. 

56.  Ser  Charls  a  Murre  in  that  place, 

that  never  a  foot  wolde  fle  ; 
Ser  Hewe  Maxwelle,  a  lorde  he  was, 
with  the  Doglas  dyd  he  dey. 

57.  So  on  the  morrowe  the  mayde  them  byears 

off  birch  and  hasell  so  gray  ; 
Many  wedous,  with  wepyng  tears, 
cam  to  fache  ther  makys  away. 

58.  Tivydale  may  carpe  off  care, 

Northombarlond  may  mayk  great  mon, 
For  towe  such  captayns  as  slayne  wear  thear, 
on  the  March-parti  shall  never  be  non. 

59.  Word  ys  commen  to  Eddenburrowe, 

to  Jamy  the  Skottische  kynge, 
That  dougheti  Duglas,  lyff-tenant  of  the  Marches, 
he  lay  slean  Chyviot  within. 

60.  His  handdes  dyd  he  weal  and  wryng, 

,  he  sayd,  '  Alas,  and  woe  ys  me  ! 
Such  an  othar  captayn  Skotland  within,' 
he  sayd,  'ye-feth  shuld  never  be.' 


114  BALLADS. 

6 1 .  Worde  ys  commyn  to  lovly  Londone, 

till  the  fourth  Harry  our  kynge, 
That  lord  Perse,  leyff-tenante  of  the  Marchis, 
he  lay  slayne  Chyviat  within. 

62.  '  God  have  merci  on  his  solle,'  sayde  Kyng  Harry, 

'  good  lord,  yf  thy  will  it  be  ! 
I  have  a  hondrith  captayns  in  Ynglonde,'  he  sayd, 

'  as  good  as  ever  was  he  : 
But,  Perse,  and  I  brook  my  lyffe, 

thy  deth  well  quyte  shall  be.' 

63.  As  our  noble  kynge  mayd  his  avowe, 

lyke  a  noble  prince  of  renowen, 
For  the  deth  of  the  lord  Perse 

he  dyde  the  battell  of  Hombyll-down  ; 

64.  Wher  syx  and  thritte  Skottishe  knyghtes 

on  a  day  wear  beaten  down  : 
Glendale  glytteryde  on  ther  armor  bryght, 
over  castille,  towar,  and  town. 

65.  This  was  the  hontynge  off  the  Cheviat, 

that  tear  begane  this  spurn ; 

Old  men  that  knowen'the  grownde  well  yenoughe 
call  it  the  battell  of  Otterburn. 

66.  At  Otterburn  begane  this  spurne 

uppone  a  Monnynday ; 
Ther  was  the  doughte  Doglas  slean, 
the  Perse  never  went  away. 

67.  Ther  was  never  a  tym  on  the  Marche-partes 

sen  the  Doglas  and  the  Perse  met, 
But  yt  ys  mervele  and  the  rede  blude  ronne  not, 
as  the  reane  doys  in  the  stret. 


BALLADS.  115 


68.     Jhesue  Crist  our  balys  bete, 

and  to  the  blys  us  brynge  ! 
Thus  was  the  hountynge  of  the  Chivyat : 
God  send  us  alle  good  endyng  ! 


116  BALLADS. 


KINMONT    WILLIE. 

1.  O  have  ye  na  heard  o  the  fause  Sakelde  ? 

0  have  ye  na  heard  o  the  keen  Lord  Scroop  ? 
How  they  hae  taen  bauld  Kinmont  Willie, 

On  Hairibee  to  hang  him  up  ? 

2.  Had  Willie  had  but  twenty  men, 

But  twenty  men  as  stout  as  he, 
Fause  Sakelde  had  never  the  Kinmont  taen, 
Wi  eight  score  in  his  companie. 

3.  They  band  his  legs  beneath  the  steed, 

They  tied  his  hands  behind  his  back  ; 
They  guarded  him,  fivesome  on  each  side, 
And  they  brought  him  ower  the  Liddel-rack. 

4.  They  led  him  thro  the  Liddel-rack, 

And  also  thro  the  Carlisle  sands  ; 
They  brought  him  to  Carlisle  castell, 
To  be  at  my  Lord  Scroope's  commands. 

5.  '  My  hands  are  tied,  but  my  tongue  is  free, 

And  whae  will  dare  this  deed  avow  ? 
Or  answer  by  the  Border  law  ? 

Or  answer  to  the  bauld  Buccleuch  ! ' 

6.  '  Now  haud  thy  tongue,  thou  rank  reiver  ! 

There  's  never  a  Scot  shall  set  ye  free  ; 
Before  ye  cross  my  castle-yate, 

1  trow  ye  shall  take  farewell  o  me.' 


BALLADS.  117 

7.  '  Fear  na  ye  that,  my  lord,'  quo  Willie  ; 

'  By  the  faith  o  my  body,  Lord  Scroope,'  he  said, 
'  I  never  yet  lodged  in  a  hostelrie, 
But  I  paid  my  lawing  before  I  gaed.' 

8.  Now  word  is  gane  to  the  bauld  Keeper, 

In  Branksome  Ha  where  that  he  lay, 
That  Lord  Scroope  has  taen  the  Kinmont  Willie, 
Between  the  hours  of  night  and  day. 

9.  He  has  taen  the  table  wi  his  hand, 

He  garrd  the  red  wine  spring  on  hie  ; 
'  Now  Christ's  curse  on  my  head,'  he  said, 
'  But  avenged  of  Lord  Scroope  I  '11  be  ! 

10.  'O  is  my  basnet  a  widow's  curch, 

Or  my  lance  a  wand  of  the  willow-tree, 
Or  my  arm  a  ladye's  lilye  hand, 

That  an  English  lord  should  lightly  me  ? 

11.  'And  have  they  taen  him,  Kinmont  Willie, 

Against  the  truce  of  Border  tide, 
And  forgotten  that  the  bauld  Buccleuch 
Is  keeper  here  on  the  Scottish  side  ? 

12.  'And  have  they  een  taen  him,  Kinmont  Willie, 

Withouten  either  dread  or  fear, 
And  forgotten  that  the  bauld  Buccleuch 
Can  back  a  steed,  or  shake  a  spear  ? 

13.  'O  were  there  war  between  the  lands, 

As  well  I  wot  that  there  is  none, 
I  would  slight  Carlisle  castell  high, 
Tho  it  were  builded  of  marble  stone. 


118  BALLADS. 

14.  'I  would  set  that  castell  in  a  low, 

And  sloken  it  with  English  blood ; 
There  's  nevir  a  man  in  Cumberland 
Should  ken  where  Carlisle  castell  stood. 

15.  '  But  since  nae  war 's  between  the  lands, 

And  there  is  peace,  and  peace  should  be, 
I  '11  neither  harm  English  lad  or  lass, 
And  yet  the  Kinmont  freed  shall  be  ! ' 

1 6.  He  has  calld  him  forty  marchmen  bauld, 

I  trow  they  were  of  his  ain  name, 
Except  Sir  Gilbert  Elliott,  calld 

The  Laird  of  Stobs,  I  mean  the  same. 

17.  He  has  calld  him  forty  marchmen  bauld, 

Were  kinsmen  to  the  bauld  Buccleuch, 
With  spur  on  heel,  and  splent  on  spauld, 
And  gleuves  of  green,  and  feathers  blue. 

1 8.  There  were  five  and  five  before  them  a', 

Wi  hunting-horns  and  bugles  bright ; 
And  five  and  five  came  wi  Buccleuch, 
Like  Warden's  men,  arrayed  for  fight. 

19.  And  five  and  five  like  a  mason-gang, 

That  carried  the  ladders  lang  and  hie ; 
And  five  and  five  like  broken  men ; 

And  so  they  reached  the  Woodhouselee. 

20.  And  as  we  crossd  the  Bateable  Land, 

When  to  the  English  side  we  held, 
The  first  o  men  that  we  met  wi, 

Whae  sould  it  be  but  fause  Sakelde  ! 


BALLADS.  119 

21.  '  Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  hunters  keen  ? ' 

Quo  fause  Sakelde  ;  '  come  tell  to  me ' ; 
'  We  go  to  hunt  an  English  stag, 

Has  trespassd  on  the  Scots  countrie.' 

22.  'Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  marshal-men?' 

Quo  fause  Sakelde  ;  '  come  tell  me  true  ' ; 
'  We  go  to  catch  a  rank  reiver, 

Has  broken  faith  wi  the  bauld  Buccleuch.' 

23.  'Where  are  ye  gaun,  ye  mason-lads, 

Wi  a'  your  ladders  lang  and  hie  ? ' 
'  We  gang  to  herry  a  corbie's  nest, 

That  wons  not  far  frae  Woodhouselee.' 

2  4.     '  Where  be  ye  gaun,  ye  broken  men  ? ' 

Quo  fause  Sakelde ;  '  come  tell  to  me  ' ; 
Now  Dickie  of  Dryhope  led  that  band, 
And  the  nevir  a  word  o  lear  had  he. 

25.  '  Why  trespass  ye  on  the  English  side  ? 

Row-footed  outlaws,  stand  ! '  quo  he ; 
The  neer  a  word  had  Dickie  to  say, 

Sae  he  thrust  the  lance  thro  his  fause  bodie. 

26.  Then  on  we  held  for  Carlisle  toun, 

And  at  Staneshaw-bank  the  Eden  we  crossd ; 
The  water  was  great,  and  meikle  of  spait, 
But  the  nevir  a  horse  nor  man  we  lost. 

27.  And  when  we  reachd  the  Staneshaw-bank, 

The  wind  was  rising  loud  and  hie  ; 
And  there- the  laird  garrd  leave  our  steeds, 
For  fear  that  they  should  stamp  and  nie. 


120  BALLADS. 

28.  And  when  we  left  the  Staneshaw-bank, 

The  wind  began  full  loud  to  blaw ; 
But  't  was  wind  and  weet,  and  fire  and  sleet, 
When  we  came  beneath  the  castel-wa. 

29.  We  crept  on  knees,  and  held  our  breath, 

Till  we  placed  the  ladders  against  the  wa ; 
And  sae  ready  was  Buccleuch  himsell 
To  mount  the  first  before  us  a'. 

30.  He  has  taen  the  watchman  by  the  throat, 

He  flung  him  down  upon  the  lead  : 
'  Had  there  not  been  peace  between  our  lands, 
Upon  the  other  side  thou  hadst  gaed. 

31.  'Now  sound  out,  trumpets  ! '  quo  Buccleuch  ; 

1  Let  's  waken  Lord  Scroope  right  merrilie  ! ' 
Then  loud  the  Warden's  trumpets  blew 
'  O  whae  dare  meddle  wi  me  ? ' 

32.  Then  speedilie  to  wark  we  gaed, 

And  raised  the  slogan  ane  and  a', 
And  cut  a  hole  thro  a  sheet  of  lead, 
And  so  we  wan  to  the  castel-ha. 

33.  They  thought  King  James  and  a'  his  men 

Had  won  the  house  wi  bow  and  spear ; 
It  was  but  twenty  Scots  and  ten, 
That  put  a  thousand  in  sic  a  stear  ! 

34.  Wi  coulters  and  wi  forehammers, 

We  garrd  the  bars  bang  merrilie, 
Untill  we  came  to  the  inner  prison, 
Where  Willie  o  Kinmont  he  did  lie. 


BALLADS.  121 

35.  And  when  we  cam  to  the  lower  prison, 

Where  Willie  o  Kinmont  he  did  lie, 
'O  sleep  ye,  wake  ye,  Kinmont  Willie, 
Upon  the  morn  that  thou  's  to  die  ? ' 

36.  'O  I  sleep  saft,  and  I  wake  aft, 

It  's  lang  since  sleeping  was  fleyd  frae  me ; 
Gie  my  service  back  to  my  wyfe  and  bairns, 
And  a'  gude  fellows  that  speer  for  me.' 

37.  Then  Red  Rowan  has  hente  him  up, 

The  starkest  man  in  Teviotdale  : 
'Abide,  abide  now,  Red  Rowan, 

Till  of  my  Lord  Scroope  I  take  farewell. 

38.  '  Farewell,  farewell,  my  gude  Lord  Scroope  ! 

My  gude  Lord  Scroope,  farewell  ! '  he  cried ; 
'  I  '11  pay  you  for  my  lodging-maill 

When  first  we  meet  on  the  border-side.' 

39.  Then  shoulder  high,  with  shout  and  cry, 

We  bore  him  down  the  ladder  lang  ; 
At  every  stride  Red  Rowan  made, 

I  wot  the  Kinmont's  aims  playd  clang. 

40.  'O  mony  a  time,'  quo  Kinmont  Willie, 

'  I  have  ridden  horse  baith  wild  and  wood ; 
But  a  rougher  beast  than  Red  Rowan 
I  ween  my  legs  have  neer  bestrode. 

41.  'And  mony  a  time,'  quo  Kinmont  Willie, 

'  I  Ve  pricked  a  horse  out  oure  the  furs ; 
But  since  the  day  I  backed  a  steed, 
I  nevir  wore  sic  cumbrous  spurs.' 


122  BALLADS. 

42.  We  scarce  had  won  the  Staneshaw-bank, 

When  a'  the  Carlisle  bells  were  rung, 
And  a  thousand  men,  in  horse  and  foot, 
Cam  wi  the  keen  Lord  Scroope  along. 

43.  Buccleuch  has  turned  to  Eden  Water, 

Even  where  it  flowd  frae  bank  to  brim, 
And  he  has  plunged  in  wi  a'  his  band, 
And  safely  swam  them  thro  the  stream. 

44.  He  turned  him  on  the  other  side, 

And  at  Lord  Scroope  his  glove  flung  he 
'  If  ye  like  na  my  visit  in  merry  England, 
In  fair  Scotland  come  visit  me  ! ' 

45.  All  sore  astonished  stood  Lord  Scroope, 

He  stood  as  still  as  rock  of  stane  ; 
He  scarcely  dared  to  trew  his  eyes, 
When  thro  the  water  they  had  gane. 

46.  '  He  is  either  himsell  a  devil  frae  hell, 

Or  else  his  mother  a  witch  maun  be ; 
I  wad  na  have  ridden  that  wan  water 
For  a'  the  gowd  in  Christentie.' 


BALLADS.  123 


JOHNIE   COCK. 

1.  Up  Johnie  raise  in  a  May  morning, 

Calld  for  water  to  wash  his  hands, 
And  he  has  calld  for  his  gude  gray  hunds 
That  lay  bund  in  iron  bands,  bands, 
That  lay  bund  in  iron  bands. 

2.  'Ye  '11  busk,  ye  '11  busk  my  noble  dogs, 

Ye  '11  busk  and  mak  them  boun, 
For  I  'm  going  to  the  Braidscaur  hill 
To  ding  the  dun  deer  doun.' 

3.  Johnie's  mother  has  gotten  word  o  that, 

And  care-bed  she  has  taen  : 
'  O  Johnie,  for  my  benison, 

I  beg  you  '1  stay  at  hame  ; 
For  the  wine  so  red,  and  the  well-baken  bread, 

My  Johnie  shall  want  nane. 

4.  '  There  are  seven  f orsters  at  Pickeram  Side, 

At  Pickeram  where  they  dwell, 
And  for  a  drop  of  thy  heart's  bluid 
They  wad  ride  the  fords  of  hell.' 

5.  But  Johnie  has  cast  aff  the  black  velvet, 

And  put  on  the  Lincoln  twine, 
And  he  is  on  to  gude  greenwud 
As  fast  as  he  could  gang. 

6.  Johnie  lookit  east,  and  Johnie  lookit  west, 

And  he  lookit  aneath  the  sun, 
And  there  he  spied  the  dun  deer  sleeping 
Aneath  a  buss  o  whun. 


124  BALLADS. 

7.  Johnie  shot,  and  the  dun  deer  lap, 

And  she  lap  wondrous  wide, 
Until  they  came  to  the  wan  water, 
And  he  stemd  her  of  her  pride. 

8.  He  'as  taen  out  the  little  pen-knife, 

?Twas  full  three  quarters  long, 
And  he  has  taen  out  of  that  dun  deer 

The  liver  hot  and  the  tongue. 
&5  u>eJjC  Q_ 

9.  They  eat  of  the  flesh,  and  they  drank  of  the  blood, 

And  the  blood  it  was  so  sweet, 
Which  caused  Johnie  and  his  bloody  hounds 
To  fall  in  a  deep  sleep. 

10.  By  then  came  an  old  palmer, 

And  an  ill  death  may  he  die  ! 
For  he  's  away  to  Pickram  Side 
As  fast  as  he  can  drie. 

11.  '  What  news,  what  news  ? '  says  the  Seven  Forsters, 

'  What  news  have  ye  brought  to  me  ? ' 
'  I  have  noe  news,'  the  palmer  said, 
'  But  what  I  saw  with  my  eye. 

12.  'As  I  cam  in  by  Braidisbanks, 

And  down  among  the  whuns, 

The  bonniest  youngster  eer  I  saw 

Lay  sleepin  amang  his  hunds. 

13.  'The  shirt  that  was  upon  his  back 

Was  o  the  holland  fine ; 
The  doublet  which  was  over  that 
Was  o  the  Lincoln  twine.' 


BALLADS.  125 

1 4.  Up  bespake  the  Seven  Forsters, 

Up  bespake  they  ane  and  a': 

'O  that  is  Johnie  o  Cockleys  Well, 

And  near  him  we  will  draw.' 

15.  O  the  first  stroke  that  they  gae  him, 

They  struck  him  off  by  the  knee  ; 
^ —  Then  up  bespake  his  sister's  son  : 
'  O  the  next  '11  gar  him  die  ! ' 

1 6.  'O  some  they  count  ye  well-wight  men, 

But  I  do  count  ye  nane ; 
For  you  might  well  ha  wakend  me, 
And  askd  gin  I  wad  be  taen. 

17.  'The  wildest  wolf  in  aw  this  wood 

Wad  not  ha  done  so  by  me  ; 
She  'd  ha  wet  her  foot  ith  wan  water, 

And  sprinkled  it  oer  my  brae, 
And  if  that  wad  not  ha  wakend  me, 

She  wad  ha  gone  and  let  me  be. 

18.  'O  bows  of  yew,  if  ye  be  true, 

In  London,  where  ye  were  bought, 
Fingers  five,  get  up  belive, 

Manhuid  shall  fail  me  nought.' 

19.  He  has  killd  the  Seven  Forsters, 

He  has  killd  them  all  but  ane, 
And  that  wan  scarce  to  Pickeram  Side, 
To  carry  the  bode-words  hame. 

20.  'Is  there  never  a  [bird]  in  a'  this  wood 

That  will  tell  what  I  can  say; 
That  will  go  to  Cockleys  Well, 

Tell  my  mither  to  fetch  me  away  ? ' 


126  BALLADS. 


2 1 .     There  was  a  [bird]  into  that  wood, 

That  carried  the  tidings  away, 
And  many  ae  was  the  well-wight  man 
At  the  fetching  o  Johnie  away. 


BALLADS.  127 


JOHNIE   ARMSTRONG. 

1.  There  dwelt  a  man  in  faire  Westmerland, 

Jonne  Armestrong  men  did  him  call, 
He  had  nither  lands  nor  rents  coming  in, 
Yet  he  kept  eight  score  men  in  his  hall. 

2.  He  had  horse  and  harness  for  them  all, 

Goodly  steeds  were  all  milke-white  ; 
O  the  golden  bands  an  about  their  necks, 
And  their  weapons,  they  were  all  alike. 

3.  Newes  then  was  brought  unto  the  king 

That  there  was  sicke  a  won  as  hee, 
That  lived  lyke  a  bold  out-law, 
And  robbed  all  the  north  country. 

4.  The  king  he  writt  an  a  letter  then, 

A  letter  which  was  large  and  long  ; 
He  signed  it  with  his  owne  hand, 

And  he  promised  to  doe  him  no  wrong. 

5.  When  this  letter  came  Jonne  untill, 

His  heart  was  as  blyth  as  birds  on  the  tree  : 
'  Never  was  I  sent  for  before  any  king, 

My  father,  my  grandfather,  nor  none  but  mee. 

6.  '  And  if  wee  goe  the  king  before, 

I  would  we  went  most  orderly ; 
Every  man  of  you  shall  have  his  scarlet  cloak, 
Laced  with  silver  laces  three. 


128  BALLADS. 

7.  '  Every  won  of  you  shall  have  his  velvett  coat, 

Laced  with  silver  lace  so  white  ; 
O  the  golden  bands  an  about  your  necks, 
Black  hatts,  white  feathers,  all  alyke.' 

8.  By  the  morrow  morninge  at  ten  of  the  clock, 

Towards  Edenburough  gon  was  hee, 
And  with  him  all  his  eight  score  men ; 

Good  lord,  it  was  a  goodly  sight  for  to  see  ! 

9.  When  Jonne  came  befower  the  king, 

He  fell  downe  on  his  knee ; 
'O  pardon,  my  soveraine  leige,'  he  said, 
'O  pardon  my  eight  score  men  and  mee.' 

i  o.     '  Thou  shalt  have  no  pardon,  thou  traytor  strong, 

For  thy  eight  score  men  nor  thee ; 
For  to-morrow  morning  by  ten  of  the  clock, 
Both  thou  and  them  shall  hang  on  the  gallow- 
tree.' 

11.  But  Jonne  looked  over  his  left  shoulder, 

Good  Lord,  what  a  grevious  look  looked  hee  ! 
Saying,  '  Asking  grace  of  a  graceles  face  — 
Why  there  is  none  for  you  nor  me.' 

12.  But  Jonne  had  a  bright  sword  by  his»side, 

And  it  was  made  of  the  mettle  so  free, 
That  had  not  the  king  stept  his  foot  aside, 

He  had  smitten  his  head  from  his  faire  bodde. 

13.  Saying,  '  Fight  on,  my  merry  men  all, 

And  see  that  none  of  you  be  taine ; 
For  rather  than  men  shall  say  we  were  hangd, 
Let  them  report  how  we  were  slaine.' 


BALLADS.  129 

14.  Then,  God  wott,  faire  Eddenburrough  rose, 

And  so  besett  poore  Jonne  rounde, 
That  fower  score  and  tenn  of  Jonnes  best  men 
Lay  gasping  all  upon  the  ground. 

15.  Then  like  a  mad  man  Jonne  laide  about, 

And  like  a  mad  man  then  fought  hee, 
Untill  a  falce  Scot  came  Jonne  behinde, 
And  runn  him  through  the  faire  boddee. 

1 6.  Saying,  '  Fight  on,  my  merry  men  all, 

I  am  a  little  hurt,  but  I  am  not  slain ; 
I  will  lay  me  down  for  to  bleed  a  while, 
Then  I  'le  rise  and  fight  with  you  again.' 

17.  Newes  then  was  brought  to  young  Jonne  Arme- 

strong, 

As  he  stood  by  his  nurses  knee, 
Who  vowed  if  ere  he  lived  for  to  be  a  man, 
O  the  treacherous  Scots  revengd  hee  'd  be. 


130  BALLADS. 


SIR   ANDREW   BARTON. 

1.  As  itt  beffell  in  midsumer-time, 

When  burds  singe  sweetlye  on  every  tree, 
Our  noble  king,  King  Henery  the  Eighth, 
Over  the  river  of  Thames  past  hee. 

2.  Hee  was  no  sooner  over  the  river, 

Downe  in  a  fforrest  to  take  the  ayre, 
But, eighty  merchants  of  London  cittye 
Came  kneeling  before  King  Henery  there. 

3.  '  O  yee  are  welcome,  rich  merchants, 

[Good  saylers,  welcome  unto  me  ! '] 
They  swore  by  the  rood  the  were  saylers  good, 
But  rich  merchants  they  cold  not  bee. 

4.  '  To  Ffrance  nor  Fflanders  dare  we  nott  passe, 

Nor  Burdeaux  voyage  wee  dare  not  ffare, 
And  all  ffor  a  ffalse  robber  that  lyes  on  the  seas, 
And  robbs  us  of  our  merchants-ware.' 

5.  King  Henery  was  stout,  and  he  turned  him  about, 

And  swore  by  the  Lord  that  was  mickle  of  might, 
'  I  thought  he  had  not  beene  in  the  world  through- 
out, 
That  durst  have  wrought  England  such  unright.' 

6.  But  ever  they  sighed,  and  said,  alas  ! 

Unto  King  Harry  this  answere  againe  : 
1  He  is  a  proud  Scott  that  will  rob  us  all 

If  wee  were  twenty  shipps  and  hee  but  one,' 


BALLADS.  131 

7.  The  king  looket  over  his  left  shoulder, 

Amongst  his  lords  and  barrens  soe  ffree  : 
'  Have  I  never  lord  in  all  my  realme 
Will  ffeitch  yond  traitor  unto  mee  ? ' 

8.  'Yes,  that  dare  I ! '  sayes  my  Lord  Chareles  Howard, 

Neere  to  the  king  wheras  hee  did  stand ; 
'  If  that  Your  Grace  will  give  me  leave, 
My  selfe  wilbe  the  only  man.' 

9.  'Thou  shalt  have  six  hundred  men,'  saith  our  king, 

'  And  chuse  them  out  of  my  realme  soe  Hree  : 
Besids  marriners  and  boyes, 

To  guide  the  great  shipp  on  the  sea.' 

10.  'I  'le  goe  speake  with  Sir  Andrew,'  sais  Charles,  my 

Lord  Haward, 

'  Upon  the  sea,  if  hee  be  there  ; 
I  will  bring  him  and  his  shipp  to  shore, 

Or  before  my  prince  I  will  never  come  neere.' 

1 1 .  The  ffirst  of  all  my  lord  did  call, 

A  noble  gunner  he  was  one ; 
This  man  was  three  score  yeeres  and  ten, 
And  Peeter  Simon  was  his  name. 

12.  'Peeter,'  sais  hee,  'I  must  sayle  to  the  sea, 

To  seeke  out  an  enemye ;  God  be  my  speed  ! 
Before  all  others  I  have  chosen  thee ; 
Of  a  hundred  guners  thoust  be  my  head.' 

13.  ' My  lord,'  sais  hee,  'if  you  have  chosen  mee 

Of  a  hundred  gunners  to  be  the  head, 
Hange  me  at  your  maine-mast  tree 

If  I  misse  my  marke  past  three  pence  bread.' 


132  BALLADS. 

14.  The  next  of  all  my  lord  he  did  call, 

A  noble  bowman  hee  was  one ; 
In  Yorekeshire  was  this  gentleman  borne, 
And  William  Horsley  was  his  name. 

15.  '  Horsley,'  sayes  hee,  'I  must  sayle  to  the  sea, 

To  seeke  out  an  enemye ;  God  be  my  speede  ! 
Before  all  others  I  have  chosen  thee ; 

Of  a  hundred  bowemen  thoust  be  my  head.' 

1 6.  'My  lord,'  sais  hee,  'if  you  have  chosen  mee 

*Of  a  hundred  bowemen  to  be  the  head, 
Hang  me  att  your  mainemast  tree 

If  I  misse  my  marke  past  twelve  pence  bread.' 

17.  With  pikes,  and  gunnes,  and  bowemen  bold, 

This  noble  Howard  is  gone  to  the  sea 
On  the  day  before  midsummer-even, 
And  out  att  Thames  mouth  sayled  they. 

1 8.  They  had  not  sayled  dayes  three 

Upon  their  journey  they  tooke  in  hand, 
But  there  they  mett  with  a  noble  shipp, 
And  stoutely  made  itt  both  stay  and  stand. 

• 

19.  'Thou  must  tell  me  thy  name,'  sais  Charles,  my 

lord  H  award, 

'  Or  who  thou  art,  or  ffrom  whence  thou  came, 
Yea,  and  where  thy  dwelling  is, 

To  whom  and  where  thy  shipp  does  belong.' 

20.  'My  name,'  sayes  hee,  'is  Henery  Hunt, 

With  a  pure  hart  and  a  penitent  mind ; 
I  and  my  shipp  they  doe  belong 

Unto  the  New-castle  that  stands  upon  Tine.' 


BALLADS.  133 

21.  '  Now  thou  must  tell  me,  Harry  Hunt, 

As  thou  hast  sayled  by  day  and  by  night, 
Hast  thou  not  heard  of  a  stout  robber  ? 

Men  calls  him  Sir  Andrew  Bartton,  Knight.' 

22.  But  ever  he  sighed,  and  sayd,  'Alas  ! 

Ffull  well,  my  lord,  I  know  that  wight ! 
He  robd  me  of  my  merchants  ware, 

And  I  was  his  prisoner  but  yesternight. 

23.  'As  I  was  sayling  uppon  the  sea, 

And  Burdeaux  voyage  as  I  did  ffare, 
He  clasped  me  to  his  hachborde, 

And  robd  me  of  all  my  merchants-ware. 

24.  'And  I  am  a  man  both  poore  and  bare, 

And  every  man  will  have  his  owne  of  me, 
And  I  am  bound  towards  London  to  ffare, 
To  complaine  to  my  prince  Henerye.' 

25.  '  That  shall  not  need,'  sais  my  Lord  Haward  ; 

'  If  thou  canst  lett  me  this  robber  see, 
Ffor  every  peny  he  hath  taken  thee  ffroe, 

Thou  shalt  be  rewarded  a  shilling,'  quoth  hee. 

26.  'Now  God  fforefend,'  saies  Henery  Hunt, 

'  My  lord,  you  shold  worke  soe  ffar  amisse  ! 
God  keepe  you  out  of  that  traitors  hands  ! 
For  you  wott  ffull  litle  what  a  man  hee  is. 

27.  '  Hee  is  brasse  within,  and  steele  without, 

And  beames  hee  beares  in  his  topcastle  stronge  ; 
His  shipp  hath  ordinance  cleane  round  about ; 
Besids,  my  lord,  hee  is  verry  well  mand. 


134  BALLADS. 

28.  '  He  hath  a  pinnace,  is  deerlye  dight, 

Saint  Andrews  crosse,  that  is  his  guide ; 
His  pinnace  beares  nine  score  men  and  more, 
Besids  fifteen  cannons  on  every  side. 

29.  'If  you  were  twenty  shippes,  and  he  but  one, 

Either  in  hachbord  or  in  hall, 
He  wold  overcome  you  everyone, 

And  if  his  beames  they  doe  downe  ffall.' 

30.  'This  is  cold  comfort,'  sais  my  Lord  Haward, 

'  To  wellcome  a  stranger  thus  to  the  sea  ; 
I  'le  bring  him  and  his  shipp  to  shore, 

Or  else  into  Scottland  hee  shall  carrye  mee.' 

31.  '  Then  you  must  gett  a  noble  gunner,  my  lord, 

That  can  sett  well  with  his  eye, 
And  sinke  his  pinnace  into  the  sea, 
And  soone  then  overcome  will  hee  bee. 

32.  'And  when  that  you  have  done  this, 

If  you  chance  Sir  Andrew  for  to  bord, 
Lett  no  man  to  his  topcastle  goe ; 

And  I  will  give  you  a  glasse,  my  lord, 

33.  'And  then  you  need  to  ffeare  no  Scott, 

Whether  you  sayle  by  day  or  by  night ; 
And  to-morrow,  by  seven  of  the  clocke, 

You  shall  meete  with  Sir  Andrew  Bartton,  Knight. 

34.  'I  was  his  prisoner  but  yester  night, 

And  he  hath  taken  mee  sworne,'  quoth  hee ; 
'  I  trust  my  Lord  God  will  me  fforgive 
And  if  that  oath  then  broken  bee. 


BALLADS.  135 

35.     '  You  must  lend  me  sixe  peeces,  my  lord,'  quoth  hee, 

'  Into  my  shipp,  to  sayle  the  sea, 
And  to-morrow,  by  nine  of  the  clocke, 
Your  Honour  againe  then  will  I  see.' 


36.  And  the  hache-bord  where  Sir  Andrew  lay 

Is  hache'd  with  gold  deerlye  dight : 
'  Now  by  my  ffaith,'  sais  Charles,  my  lord  Haward, 
'  Then  yonder  Scott  is  a  worthye  wight ! 

37.  'Take  in  your  ancyents  and  your  standards, 

Yea  that  no  man  shall  them  see, 
And  put  me  forth  a  white  willow  wand, 
As  merchants  use  to  sayle  the  sea.' 

38.  But  they  stirred  neither  top  nor  mast, 

But  Sir  Andrew  they  passed  by  : 
'Whatt  English  are  yonder,'  said  Sir  Andrew, 
'  That  can  so  litle  curtesye  ? 

39.  'I  have  beene  admirall  over  the  sea 

More  then  these  yeeres  three  ; 
There  is  never  an  English  dog,  nor  Portingall, 
Can  passe  this  way  without  leave  of  mee. 

40.  '  But  now  yonder  pedlers,  they  are  past, 

Which  is  no  litle  greffe  to  me  : 
Ffeich  them  backe,'  sayes  Sir  Andrew  Bartton, 
'They  shall  all  hang  att  my  maine-mast  tree.' 

41.  With  that  the  pinnace  itt  shott  of, 

That  my  Lord  Haward  might  itt  well  ken  ; 
Itt  stroke  downe  my  lords  fforemast, 

And  killed  fourteen  of  my  lord  his  men. 


136  BALLADS. 

42.  'Come  hither,  Simon  ! '  sayes  my  lord  Haward, 

'  Looke  that  thy  words  be  true  thou  sayd  ; 
I  'le  hang  thee  att  my  maine-mast  tree 

If  thou  misse  thy  marke  past  twelve  pence  bread.' 

43.  Simon  was  old,  but  his  hart  itt  was  bold; 

Hee  tooke  downe  a  peece,  and  layd  itt  ffull  lowe  ; 
He  put  in  chaine  yeards  nine, 

Besids  other  great  shott  lesse  and  more. 

44.  With  that  hee  lett  his  gun-shott  goe  ; 

Soe  well  hee  settled  itt  with  his  eye, 
The  ffirst  sight  that  Sir  Andrew  sawe, 
Hee  see  his  pinnace  sunke  in  the  sea. 

45.  When  hee  saw  his  pinace  sunke, 

Lord !  in  his  hart  hee  was  not  well : 
'  Cutt  my  ropes  !  itt  is  time  to  be  gon  ! 

I  'le  goe  ffeitch  yond  pedlers  backe  my  selfe ! ' 

46.  When  my  Lord  Haward  saw  Sir  Andrew  loose, 

Lord  !  in  his  hart  that  hee  was  ffaine  : 
'  Strike  on  your  drummes,  spread  out  your  ancyents  ! 
Sound  out  your  trumpetts  !  sound  out  amaine  ! ' 

47.  'Ffight  on,  my  men  ! '  sais  Sir  Andrew  Bartton ; 

'  Weate,  howsoever  this  geere  will  sway ; 
Itt  is  my  Lord  Admirall  of  England 
Is  come  to  seeke  mee  on  the  sea.' 

48.  Simon  had  a  sonne  ;  with  shott  of  a  gunn  — 

Well  Sir  Andrew  might  itt  ken  — 
He  shott  itt  in  att  a  privye  place, 

And  killed  sixty  more  of  Sir  Andrews  men. 


BALLADS.  137 

49.  Harry  Hunt  came  in  att  the  other  syde, 

And  att  Sir  Andrew  hee  shott  then  ; 
He  drove  downe  his  fformast-tree, 

And  killed  eighty  more  of  Sir  Andriwes  men. 

50.  'I  have  done  a  good  turne,'  sayes  Harry  Hunt; 

'  Sir  Andrew  is  not  our  kings  ffreind ; 
He  hoped  to  have  undone  me  yesternight, 
But  I  hope  I  have  quitt  him  well  in  the  end.' 

51.  'Ever  alas! '  sayd  Sir  Andrew  Barton, 

'What  shold  a  man  either  thinke  or  say? 
Yonder  ffalse  theeffe  is  my  strongest  enemye, 
Who  was  my  prisoner  but  yesterday. 

52.  'Come  hither  to  me,  thou  Gourden  good, 

And  be  thou  readye  att  my  call, 
And  I  will  give  thee  three  hundred  pound 
If  thou  wilt  lett  my  beanies  downe  ffall.' 

53.  With  that  hee  swarved  the  maine-mast  tree, 

Soe  did  he  itt  with  might  and  maine ; 
Horseley,  with  a  bearing  arrow, 

Stroke  the  Gourden  through  the  braine. 

54.  And  he  ffell  into  the  haches  againe, 

And  sore  of  this  wound  that  he  did  bleed ; 
Then  word  went  throug  Sir  Andrews  men, 
That  the  Gourden  hee  was  dead. 

55.  'Come  hither  to  me,  James  Hambliton, 

Thou  art  my  sisters  sonne,  I  have  no  more ; 
I  will  give  thee  six  hundred  pound 

If  thou  will  lett  my  beames  downe  ffall.' 


138  BALLADS. 

56.  With  that  he  swarved  the  maine-mast  tree, 

Soe  did  hee  itt  with  might  and  maine : 
Horseley,  with  another  broad  arrow, 
Strake  the  yeaman  through  the  braine. 

57.  That  hee  ffell  downe  to  the  haches  againe ; 

Sore  of  his  wound  that  hee  did  bleed  ; 
Covetousness  getts  no  gaine, 

Itt  is  verry  true,  as  the  Welchman  sayd. 

58.  But  when  hee  saw  his  sisters  sonne  slaine, 

Lord  !  in  his  heart  hee  was  not  well : 

'Goe  ffeitch  me  down  my  armour  of  prove, 

Ffor  I  will  to  the  topcastle  my-selfe. 

59.  'Goe  ffeitch  me  downe  my  armour  of  prooffe, 

For  itt  is  guilded  with  gold  soe  cleere ; 
God  be  with  my  brother,  John  of  Bartton  ! 
Amongst  the  Portingalls  hee  did  itt  weare.' 

60.  But  when  hee  had  his  armour  of  prooffe, 

And  on  his  body  hee  had  itt  on, 
Every  man  that  looked  att  him 

Sayd,  Gunn  nor  arrow  hee  neede  feare  none  ! 

61.  'Come  hither,  Horsley! '  sayes  my  lord  Haward, 

'  And  looke  your  shaft  that  itt  goe  right ; 
Shoot  a  good  shoote  in  the  time  of  need, 

And  ffor  thy  shooting  thoust  be  made  a  knight. 

62.  '  I  'le  doe  my  best,'  sayes  Horsley  then, 

'  Your  Honor  shall  see  beffore  I  goe  ; 

If  I  shold  be  hanged  att  your  mainemast, 

I  have  in  my  shipp  but  arrowes  tow.' 


BALLADS.  139 

63.  But  att  Sir  Andrew  hee  shott  then  ; 

Hee  made  sure  to  hitt  his  marke  ; 
Under  the  spole  of  his  right  arme 

He  smote  Sir  Andrew  quite  throw  the  hart. 

64.  Yett  ffrom  the  tree  hee  wold  not  start, 

But  hee  clinged  to  itt  with  might  and  maine  ; 
Under  the  coller  then  of  his  jacke, 

He  stroke  Sir  Andrew  thorrow  the  braine. 

65.  '  Ffight  on,  my  men,'  sayes  Sir  Andrew  Bartton, 

'  I  am  hurt,  but  I  am  not  slaine ; 
I  'le  lay  mee  downe  and  bleed  a-while, 
And  then  I  'le  rise  and  fright  againe. 

66.  '  Ffight  on,  my  men,'  sayes  Sir  Andrew  Bartton, 

'  These  English  doggs  they  bite  soe  lowe  ; 
Ffight  on  ffor  Scottland  and  Saint  Andrew 
Till  you  heare  my  whistle  blowe  ! ' 

67.  But  when  the  cold  not  heare  his  whistle  blow, 

Sayes  Harry  Hunt,  '  I  'le  lay  my  head 
You  may  bord  yonder  noble  shipp,  my  lord, 
For  I  know  Sir  Andrew  hee  is  dead.' 

68.  With  that  they  borded  this  noble  shipp, 

Soe  did  they  itt  with  might  and  maine ; 
The  ffound  eighteen  score  Scotts  alive, 
Besids  the  rest  were  maimed  and  slaine. 

69.  My  lord  Haward  tooke  a  sword  in  his  hand, 

And  smote  of  Sir  Andrews  head ; 
The  Scotts  stood  by  did  weepe  and  mourne, 
But  never  a  word  durst  speake  or  say. 


140  BALLADS, 

jo.     He  caused  his  body  to  be  taken  downe, 

And  over  the  hatch-bord  cast  into  the  sea, 
And  about  his  middle  three  hundred  crownes  : 
'  Wheresoever  thou  lands,  itt  will  bury  thee.' 

7  i .     With  his  head  they  sayled  into  England  againe, 

With  right  good  will,  and  fforce  and  main, 
And  the  day  beffore  Newyeeres  even 
Into  Thames  mouth  they  came  againe. 

72.  My  lord  Haward  wrote  to  King  Heneryes  grace, 

With  all  the  newes  hee  cold  him  bring : 
'  Such  a  Newyeeres  gifft  I  have  brought  to  your 

Grace, 
As  never  did  subject  to  any  king. 

73.  '  Ffor  merchandyes  and  manhood, 

The  like  is  nott  to  be  ffound ; 
The  sight  of  these  wold  doe  you  good, 
Ffor  you  have  not  the  like  in  your  English  ground.' 

74.  But  when  hee  heard  tell  that  they  were  come, 

Full  royally  hee  welcomed  them  home ; 
Sir  Andrews  shipp  was  the  kings  Newyeeres  guifft ; 
A  braver  shipp  you  never  saw  none. 

75.  Now  hath  our  king  Sir  Andrews  shipp, 

Besett  with  pearles  and  precyous  stones ; 
Now  hath  England  two  shipps  of  warr, 
Two  shipps  of  warr,  before  but  one. 

76.  'Who  holpe  to  this  ? '  sayes  King  Henerye, 

'  That  I  may  reward  him  ffor  his  paine  : ' 
'  Harry  Hunt,  and  Peeter  Simon, 
William  Horseleay,  and  I  the  same.' 


BALLADS.  141 

77.  '  Harry  Hunt  shall  have  his  whistle  and  chaine, 

And  all  his  Jewells,  whatsoever  they  bee, 
And  other  rich  giffts  that  I  will  not  name, 
For  his  good  service  he  hath  done  mee. 

78.  '  Horslay,  right  thoust  be  a  knight, 

Lands  and  livings  thou  shalt  have  store ; 
Howard  shalbe  erle  of  Nottingham, 
And  soe  was  never  Haward  before. 

79.  '  Now,  Peeter  Simon,  thou  art  old  ; 

I  will  maintaine  thee  and  thy  sonne  ; 
Thou  shalt  have  five  hundred  pound  all  in  gold 
Ffor  the  good  service  that  thou  hast  done.' 

80.  Then  King  Henerye  shiffted  his  roome  ; 

In  came  the  Queene  and  ladyes  bright ; 
Other  arrands  they  had  none 

But  to  see  Sir  Andrew  Bartton,  Knight. 

81.  But  when  they  see  his  deadly  fface, 

His  eyes  were  hollow  in  his  head ; 
'  I  wold  give  a  hundred  pound,'  sais  King  Henerye, 
'  The  man  were  alive  as  hee  is  dead  ! 

82.  '  Yett  ffor  the  manfull  part  that  hee  hath  playd, 

Both  heere  and  beyond  the  sea, 
His  men  shall  have  halfe  a  crowne  a  day 
To  bring  them  to  my  brother,  King  Jamye.' 


142  BALLADS. 


BROWN    ROBYN'S    CONFESSION. 

1.  It  fell  upon  a  Wodensday 

Brown  Robyn's  men  went  to  sea, 
But  they  saw  neither  moon  nor  sun 
Nor  starlight  wi  their  ee. 

2.  'We'll  cast  kevels  us  amang, 

See  wha  the  unhappy  man  may  be ; ' 
The  kevel  fell  on  Brown  Robyn, 
The  master-man  was  he. 

3.  '  It  is  nae  wonder,'  said  Brown  Robyn, 

'  Altho  I  dinna  thrive, 
For 


4.  '  But  tie  me  to  a  plank  o  wude 

And  throw  me  in  the  sea; 
And  if  I  sink,  ye  may  bid  me  sink, 
But  if  I  swim,  just  lat  me  be.' 

5.  They've  tyed  him  to  a  plank  o  wude, 

And  thrown  him  in  the  sea ; 
He  didna  sink,  tho  they  bade  him  sink 
He  swimd,  and  they  lat  him  bee. 

6.  He  hadna  been  into  the  sea 

An  hour  but  barely  three, 
Till  by  it  came  Our  Blessed  Lady, 
Her  dear  young  son  her  wi. 


BALLADS.  143 

.     '  Will  ye  gang  to  your  men  again, 

Or  will  ye  gang  wi  me? 
Will  ye  gang  to  the  high  heavens, 
Wi  my  dear  son  and  me?' 

'  I  winna  gang  to  my  men  again, 

For  they  would  be  feared  at  mee ; 
But  I  woud  gang  to  the  high  heavens, 

Wi  thy  dear  son  and  thee.' 

'  It's  for  nae  honour  ye  did  to  me,  Brown  Robyn, 

It's  for  nae  guid  ye  did  to  mee  ; 
But  a'  is  for  your  fair  confession 

You've  made  upon  the  sea.' 


144  BALLADS. 


SIR    PATRICK    SPENS. 

1.  The  king  sits  in  Dumferling  toune, 

Drinking  the  blude-reid  wine  : 
'  O  whar  will  I  get  guid  sailor, 
To  sail  this  schip  of  mine?' 

2.  Up  and  spak  an  eldern  knicht, 

Sat  at  the  kings  richt  kne  : 
'  Sir  Patrick  Spence  is  the  best  sailor, 
That  sails  upon  the  se.' 

3.  The  king  has  written  a  braid  letter, 

And  signd  it  wi  his  hand, 
And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spence, 
Was  walking  on  the  sand. 

• 

4.  The  first  line  that  Sir  Patrick  red, 

A  loud  lauch  lauched  he  ; 
The  next  line  that  Sir  Patrick  red, 
The  teir  blinded  his  ee. 

5.  '  O  wha  is  this  has  don  this  deid, 

This  ill  deid  don  to  me, 
To  send  me  out  this  time  o'  the  yeir, 
To  sail  upon  the  se  ! 

6.  '  Mak  hast,  mak  haste,  my  mirry  men  all, 

Our  guid  schip  sails  the  morne  : ' 
'  O  say  na  sae,  my  master  deir, 
For  I  feir  a  deadlie  storme. 


BALLADS.  145 

7.  '  Late  late  yestreen  I  saw  the  new  moone, 

Wi  the  auld  moone  in  hir  arme, 
And  I  feir,  I  feir,  my  deir  master, 
That  we  will  cum  to  harme.' 

8.  O  our  Scots  nobles  wer  richt  laith 

To  weet  their  cork-heild  schoone ; 
Bot  lang  owre  a'  the  play  wer  playd, 
Thair  hats  they  swam  aboone. 

9.  O  lang,  lang  may  their  ladies  sit, 

Wi  thair  fans  into  their  hand, 
Or  eir  they  se  Sir  Patrick  Spence 
Cum  sailing  to  the  land. 

10.  O  lang,  lang  may  the  ladies  stand, 

Wi  thair  gold  kems  in  their  hair, 
Waiting  for  thair  ain  deir  lords, 
For  they'll  se  thame  na  mair. 

11.  Haf  owre,  haf  owre  to  Aberdour, 

It's  fiftie  fadom  deip, 
And  thair  lies  guid  Sir  Patrick  Spence, 
Wi  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feit. 


146  BALLADS. 


CAPTAIN    CAR    OR    EDOM    O   GORDON. 

1.  It  befell  at  Martynmas, 

When  wether  waxed  colde, 

Captaine  Care  said  to  his  men, 

We  must  go  take  a  holde. 

Syck,  sike,  and  to-towe  sike, 
And  sike  and  like  to  die  ; 

The  sikest  nighte  that  ever  I  abode, 
God  lord  have  mercy  on  me  ! 

2.  'Haille,  master,  and  wether  you  will, 

And  wether  ye  like  it  best ; ' 
'  To  the  castle  of  Crecrynbroghe, 
And  there  we  will  take  our  reste.' 

3.  'I  knowe  wher  is  a  gay  castle, 

Is  builded  of  lyme  and  stone ; 
Within  their  is  a  gay  ladie, 
Her  lord  is  riden  and  gone.' 

4.  The  ladie  she  lend  on  her  castle-walle, 

She  loked  upp  and  downe ; 
There  was  she  ware  of  an  host  of  men, 
Come  riding  to  the  towne. 

5.  '  Se  yow,  my  meri  men  all, 

And  se  yow  what  I  see  ? 
Yonder  I  see  an  host  of  men, 
I  muse  who  they  shold  bee.' 


BALLADS.  147 

6.  She  thought  he  had  ben  her  wed  lord, 

As  he  comd  riding  home  ; 
Then  was  it  traitur  Captain  e  Care 
The  lord  of  Ester-towne. 

7.  They  wer  no  soner  at  supper  sett, 

Then  after  said  the  grace, 
Or  Captaine  Care  and  all  his  men 
Wer  lighte  aboute  the  place. 

8.  '  Gyve  over  thi  howsse,  thou  lady  gay, 

And  I  will  make  the  a  bande  ; 
To-nighte  thou  shall  ly  within  my  armes, 
To-morrowe  thou  shall  ere  my  lande.' 

9.  Then  bespacke  the  eldest  sonne, 

That  was  both  whitt  and  redde  : 
'  O  mother  dere,  geve  over  your  howsse, 
Or  elles  we  shalbe  deade.' 

10.  'I  will  not  geve  over  my  hous,'  she  saithe, 

'  Not  for  feare  of  my  lyffe  ; 
It  shalbe  talked  throughout  the  land, 
The  slaughter  of  a  wyffe. 

11.  '  Fetch  me  my  pestilett, 

And  charge  me  my  gonne, 
That  I  may  shott  at  this  bloddy  butcher, 
The  lord  of  Easter-towne.' 

12.  Styfly  upon  her  wall  she  stode, 

And  lett  the  pellettes  flee  ; 
But  then  she  myst  the  blody  bucher, 
And  she  slew  other  three. 


148  BALLADS. 

13.  'I  will  not  geve  over  my  hous,'  she  saithe, 

'  Netheir  for  lord  nor  lowne  ; 
Nor  yet  for  traitour  Captaine  Care, 
The  lord  of  Easter-towne. 

14.  'I  desire  of  Captine  Care, 

And  all  his  bloddye  band, 
That  he  would  save  my  eldest  sonne, 
The  eare  of  all  my  lande.' 

15.  'Lap  him  in  a  shete,'  he  sayth, 

'  And  let  him  downe  to  me, 
And  I  shall  take  him  in  my  armes, 
His  waran  shall  I  be.' 

1 6.  The  captayne  sayd  unto  him  selfe  ; 

Wyth  sped,  before  the  rest, 
He  cut  his  tonge  out  of  his  head, 
His  hart  out  of  his  brest. 

17.  He  lapt  them  in  a  handkerchef, 

And  knet  it  of  knotes  three, 
And  cast  them  over  the  castell-wall, 
•        At  that  gay  ladye. 

1 8.  '  Fye  upon  the,  Captayne  Care, 

And  all  thy  bloddy  band  ! 
For  thou  hast  slayne  my  eldest  sonne, 
The  ayre  of  all  my  land.' 

19.  Then  bespake  the  yongest  sonne, 

That  sat  on  the  nurse's  knee, 
Sayth,  '  Mother  gay,  geve  over  your  house  ; 
For  the  smoake  it  smoothers  me.' 


BALLADS.  149 

20.  Out  then  spake  the  Lady  Margaret, 

As  she  stood  on  the  stair  ; 
The  fire  was  at  her  goud  garters, 
The  lowe  was  at  her  hair. 

21.  'I  wold  geve  my  gold,'  she  saith, 

'And  so  I  wolde  my  ffee, 
For  a  blaste  of  the  westryn  wind, 
To  dryve  the  smoke  from  thee. 

22.  '  Fy  upon  the,  John  Hamleton, 

That  ever  I  paid  the  hyre  ! 
For  thou  hast  broken  my  castle-wall, 
And  kyndled  in  the  ffyre.' 

23.  The  lady  gate  to  her  close  parler, 

The  fire  fell  aboute  her  head  ; 
She  toke  up  her  children  two, 
Seth,  '  Babes,  we  are  all  dead.' 

24.  Then  bespake  the  hye  steward, 

That  is  of  hye  degree ; 
Saith,  '  Ladie  gay,  you  are  in  close, 
Wether  ye  fighte  or  flee  ' 

25.  Lord  Hamleton  dremd  in  his  dream, 

In  Carvall  where  he  laye, 
His  halle  were  all  of  fyre, 
His  ladie  slayne  or  daye. 

26.  '  Busk  and  bowne,  my  mery  men  all, 

Even  and  go  ye  with  me  ; 
For  I  dremd  that  my  hall  was  on  fyre, 
My  lady  slayne  or  day.' 


150  BALLADS. 

27.  He  buskt  him  and  bownd  hym, 

And  like  a  worthi  knighte  ; 
And  when  he  saw  his  hall  burning, 
His  harte  was  no  dele  lighte. 

28.  He  sett  a  trumpett  till  his  mouth, 

He  blew  as  it  plesd  his  grace ; 
Twenty  score  of  Hamlentons 
Was  light  aboute  the  place. 

29.  'Had  I  knowne  as  much  yesternighte 

As  I  do  to-daye, 
Captaine  Care  and  all  his  men 
Should  not  have  gone  so  quite. 

30.  '  Fye  upon  the,  Captaine  Care, 

And  all  thy  blody  bande  ! 
Thou  haste  slayne  my  lady  gay, 
More  wurth  then  all  thy  lande. 

31.  'If  thou  had  ought  eny  ill  will,'  he  saith, 

'  Thou  shoulde  have  taken  my  lyffe, 
And  have  saved  my  children  thre, 
All  and  my  lovesome  wyffe.' 


BALLADS.  151 


THE    BARON    OF    BRACKLEY. 

1.  Inverey  cam  doun  Deeside,  whistlin  and  playin, 
He  was  at  brave  Braikley's  yett  ere  it  was  dawin. 

2.  He  rappit  fu  loudly  an  wi  a  great  roar, 

Cried,  'Cum  doun,  cum  doun,  Braikley,  and  open 
the  door. 

3.  '  Are  ye  sleepin,  Baronne,  or  are  ye  wakin  ? 
Ther's  sharpe  swords   at  your  yett,  will  gar  your 

blood  spin. 

4.  'Open  the  yett,  Braikley,  and  lat  us  within, 
Till  we  on  the  green  turf  gar  your  bluid  rin.' 

5.  Up  spak  his  ladie,  at  his  bak  where  she  lay, 
'  Get  up,  get  up,  Braikley,  an  be  not  afraid  ; 
The'r  but  young  hir'd  widifus  wi  belted  plaids.' 

6.  '  Cum  kiss  me,  mi  Peggy,  Fie  nae  langer  stay, 
For  I  will  go  out  and  meet  Inverey. 

7.  '  But  haud  your  tongue,  Peggy,  and  mak  nae  sic  din, 
For  yon  same  hir'd  widifus  will  prove  themselves 

men.' 

8.  She  called  on  her  marys,  they  cam  to  her  hand ; 
Cries,  '  Bring  me  your  rocks,  lassies,  we  will  them 

command. 

9.  '  Get  up,  get  up,  Braikley,  and  turn  bak  your  ky, 
Or  me  an  mi  women  will  them  defy. 


152  BALLADS. 

10.  'Cum  forth  then,  mi  maidens,  and  show  them  some 

play; 
We'll  ficht  them,  and  shortly  the  cowards  will  fly. 

11.  '  Gin  I  had  a  husband,  whereas  I  hae  nane, 
He  woud  nae  ly  i  his  bed  and  see  his  ky  taen. 

12.  'Trier's   four-and-twenty  milk- whit   calves,  twal  o 

them  ky, 
In  the  woods  o  Glentanner,  it's  ther  thei  a'  ly. 

13.  'Ther's  goat  i  the  Etnach,  and  sheep  o  the  brae, 
An  a'  will  be  plundered  by  young  Inverey.' 

1 4.  '  Now  haud  your  tongue,  Peggy,  and  gie  me  a  gun, 
Ye'll  see  me  gae  furth,  but  I'll  never  cum  in. 

15.  '  Call  mi  brother  William,  mi  unkl  also, 

Mi  cousin  James  Gordon  ;  we'll  mount  and  we'll  go.' 

1 6.  When  Braikley  was  ready  and  stood  i  the  closs, 
He  was  the  bravest  baronne  that  eer  mounted  horse. 

17.  Whan  all  wer  assembled  o  the  castell  green, 

No  man  like  brave  Braikley  was  ther  to  be  seen. 

18 

'  Turn  bak,  brother  William,  ye  are  a  bridegroom ; 

19.  '  Wi  bonnie  Jean  Gordon,  the  maid  o  the  mill ; 
O  sichin  and  sobbin  she'll  soon  get  her  fill.' 

20.  'I'm  no  coward,  brother,  'tis  kend  I'm  a  man  ; 
I'll  ficht  i  your  quarral  as  lang's  I  can  stand. 


BALLADS.  153 

21.  '  I'll  ficht,  my  dear  brother,  wi  heart  and  gudewill, 
And  so  will  young  Harry  that  lives  at  the  mill. 

22.  '  But  turn,  mi  dear  brother,  and  nae  langer  stay : 
What'll  cum  o  your  ladie,  gin  Braikley  thei  slay? 

23.  'What'll  cum  o  your  ladie  and  bonnie  young  son  ? 
O  what'll  cum  o  them  when  Braikley  is  gone  ? ' 

24.  'I  never  will  turn  :  do  you  think  I  will  fly? 
But  here  I  will  ficht,  and  here  I  will  die.' 

25.  '  Strik  dogs,'  crys  Inverey,  '  and  ficht  till  ye're  slayn, 
For  we  are  four  hundred,  ye  are  but  four  men. 

26.  'Strik,  strik,  ye  proud  boaster,  your  honour  is  gone, 
Your  lands  we  will  plunder,  your  castell  we'll  burn.' 

27.  At  the  head  o  the  Etnach  the  battel  began, 
At  Little  Auchoilzie  thei  killd  the  first  man. 

28.  First  thei  killd  ane,  and  soon  they  killd  twa, 
Thei  killd  gallant  Braikley,  the  flour  o  them  a', 

29.  Thei  killd  William  Gordon,  and  James  o  the  Knox, 
And  brave  Alexander,  the  flour  o  Glenmuick. 

30.  What  sichin  and  moaning  was  heard  i  the  glen, 
For  the  Baronne  o  Braikley,  who  basely  was  slayn ! 

31.  'Cam  ye  bi  the  castell,  and  was  ye  in  there? 
Saw  ye  pretty  Peggy  tearing  her  hair  ? ' 

32.  '  Yes,  I  cam  by  Braikley,  and  I  gaed  in  there, 
And  there  saw  his  ladie  braiding  her  hair. 


154  BALLADS. 

33.  '  She  was  rantin,  and  dancin,  and  singin  for  joy, 
And  vowin  that  nicht  she  woud  feest  Inverey. 

34.  '  She  eat  wi  him,  drank  wi  him,  welcomd  him  in, 
Was  kind  to  the  man  that  had  slain  her  baronne.' 

35.  Up  spake  the  son  on  the  nourice's  knee, 
'Gin  I  live  to  be  a  man,  revenged  I'll  be.' 

36.  Ther's  dool  i  the  kitchin,  and  mirth  i  the  ha, 
The  Baronne  o  Braikley  is  dead  and  awa. 


BALLADS.  155 


THE   BONNY    EARL   OF    MURRAY. 

1.  Ye  Highlands,  and  ye  Lawlands, 

Oh  where  have  you  been  ? 
They  have  slain  the  Earl  of  Murray, 
And  they  layd  him  on  the  green. 

2.  'Now  wae  be  to  thee,  Huntly  ! 

And  wherefore  did  you  sae  ? 
I  bade  you  bring  him  wi  you, 
But  forbade  you  him  to  slay.' 

3.  He  was  a  braw  gallant, 

And  he  rid  at  the  ring  ; 
And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray, 
Oh  he  might  have  been  a  king  ! 

4.  He  was  a  braw  gallant, 

And  he  playd  at  the  ba  ; 
And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray 
Was  the  flower  amang  them  a 

5.  He  was  a  braw  gallant, 

And  he  playd  at  the  glove ; 
And  the  bonny  Earl  of  Murray, 
Oh  he  was  the  Queen's  love  ! 

6.  Oh  lang  will  his  lady 

Look  o'er  the  Castle  Down, 
Eer  she  see  the  Earl  of  Murray 
Come  sounding  thro  the  town  ! 


156  BALLADS. 


YOUNG   WATERS. 

1.  About  Yule,  when  the  wind  blew  cule, 

And  the  round  tables  began, 
A  there  is  cum  to  our  king's  court 
Mony  a  well-favourd  man. 

2.  The  queen  luikt  owre  the  castle- wa, 

Beheld  baith  dale  and  down, 
And  then  she  saw  Young  Waters 
Cum  riding  to  the  town. 

3.  His  footmen  they  did  rin  before, 

His  horsemen  rade  behind  ; 

Ane  mantel  of  the  burning  gowd 

Did  keip  him  frae  the  wind. 

4.  Gowden-graithd  his  horse  before, 

And  siller-shod  behind  ; 
The  horse  Young  Waters  rade  upon 
Was  fleeter  than  the  wind. 

5.  Out  then  spake  a  wylie  lord, 

Unto  the  queen  said  he  : 
O  tell  me  wha  's  the  fairest  face 
Rides  in  the  company  ? ' 

6.  '  I  Ve  sene  lord,  and  I  've  sene  laird, 

And  knights  of  high  degree, 
But  a  fairer  face  than  Young  Waters 
Mine  eyne  did  never  see.' 


BALLADS.  157 

7.  Out  then  spack  the  jealous  king, 

And  an  angry  man  was  he  : 
'  O  if  he  had  been  twice  as  fair, 
You  micht  have  excepted  me.' 

8.  '  You  're  neither  laird  nor  lord,'  she  says, 

'  Bot  the  king  that  wears  the  crown  ; 
There  is  not  a  knight  in  fair  Scotland 
Bot  to  thee  maun  bow  down.' 

9.  For  a'  that  she  could  do  or  say, 

Appeasd  he  wad  nae  bee, 
Bot  for  the  words  which  she  had  said, 
Young  Waters  he  maun  dee. 

10.     They  hae  taen  Young  Waters, 

And  put  fetters  to  his  feet ; 

They  hae  taen  Young  Waters, 

And  thrown  him  in  dungeon  deep. 

n.     'Aft  have  I  ridden  thro  Stirling  town, 

In  the  wind  bot  and  the  weit ; 
Bot  I  neir  rade  thro  Stirling  town 
Wi  fetters  at  my  feet. 

12.  'Aft  have  I  ridden  thro  Stirling  town, 

In  the  wind  bot  and  the  rain  ; 
Bot  I  neir  rade  thro  Stirling  town 
Neir  to  return  again.' 

13.  They  hae  taen  to  the  heiding-hill 

His  young  son  in  his  craddle, 
And  they  hae  taen  to  the  heiding-hill 
His  horse  bot  and  his  saddle. 


158  BALLADS. 

14.     They  hae  taen  to  the  heiding-hill 

His  lady  fair  to  see, 

And  for  the  words  the  queen  had  spoke 
Young  Waters  he  did  dee. 


BALLADS. 


MARY    HAMILTON. 

Word's  gane  to  the  kitchen, 

And  word's  gane  to  the 
That  Marie  Hamilton  has  born  a  bairn 

To  the  hichest  Stewart  of  a'. 

She's  tyed  it  in  her  apron 

And  she's  thrown  it  in  the  sea ; 

Says,  '  Sink  ye,  swim  ye,  bonny  wee  babe, 
You'll  ne'er  get  mair  ome.' 


Down  then  cam  the  auld  Queen, 
Goud  tassels  tying  her  hair  : 

'O  Marie,  where's  the  bonny  wee  babe 
That  I  heard  greet  sae  sair  ?  ' 


4.  'There  was  never  a  babe  intill  my  room, 

As  little  designs  to  foe  :  . 

,          *  *          -rO-  iA.vV^ 
It  was  but  a  touch  o-  rttyisaar  srae, 

Came  o'er  my  fair  bodie.' 

5.  'O  Marie,  put  on  your  robes  o  black, 

Or  else  your  robes  o  brown, 
For  ye  maun  gang  wi  me  the  night, 
To  see  fair  Edinbro  town.' 

6.  '  I  winna  put  on  my  robes  o  black, 

Nor  yet  my  robes  o  brown  ; 
But  I  '11  put  on  my  robes  o  white, 
To  shine  through  Edinbro  town.' 


160  BALLADS. 

7.     When  she  gaed  up  the  Cannogate, 

She  lai'ghd  loud  laughters  three  ; 
But  when  she  cam  down  the  Cannogate 
The  tear  blinded  her  ee. 


8.  When  she-gaed  urxthe  Parliament  stair, 

The  heel  cam  arrner  shee  ; 
And  lang  or  she  earn;  down  again 
She  was  condemnd  to  dee. 

9.  When  she  cam  down  the  Cannogate, 

The  Cannogate  sae  free, 
Many  a  ladie  lookd  o'er  her  window, 
Weeping  for  this  ladie. 

10.  '  Make  never  meen  for  me,'  she  says, 

'  Make  never  meen  for  me  ; 
Seek  never  grace  frae  a  graceless  face, 
For  that  ye'll  never  see. 

11.  '  Bring  me  a  bottle  of  wine,'  she  says, 

'The  best  that  eer  ye  b&»,Mji^jL, 
That  I  may  drink  to  my  weil-wishers, 
And  they  may  drink  to  me. 

12.  '  And  here's  to  the  jolly  sailor  lad 

That  sails  upon  the  faem  ; 
And  let  not  my  father  nor  mother  get  wit 
But  that  I  shaHJct>me  again. 

13.  'And  here's  to  the  jolly  sailor  lad 

That  sails  upon  the  sea  ; 
But  let  not  my  father  nor  mother  get  wit 
O  the  death  that  I  maun  dee. 


BALLADS.  161 

14.  'Oh  little  did  my  mother  think, 

The  day  she  cradled  me, 
What  lands  I  was  to  travel  through, 
What  death  I  was  to  dee. 

15.  'Oh  little  did  my  father  think, 

The  day  he  held  up  me, 
What  lands  I  was  to  travel  through, 
What  death  I  was  to  dee. 

16.  'Last  night  I  washd  the  Queen's  feet, 

And  gently  laid  her  down ;      -J,/i/rf 
And  a'  the  thanks  I've  gotten  the  nreht 
To  be  hangd  in  Edinbro  town  ! 

17.  'Last  nichv there  was  four  Maries, 

Thf^iicht  there  '11  be  but  three  ; 
There  was  Marie  Seton,  and  Marie  Beton, 
And  Marie  Carmichael,  and  me.' 


162  BALLADS. 


BONNIE   GEORGE   CAMPBELL. 

1.  High  upon  Highlands, 

and  low  upon  Tay, 
Bonnie  George  Campbell 
rade  out  on  a  day.    *'" 

2.  Saddled  and  bridled 

and  gallant  ifcde  he  ; 
Hame  cam  his  guid  horse, 
but  never  cam  he. 


3.  Out  cam  his  auld  mither 

greeting  fu'  sair, 
And  out  cam  his  bonnie  bride 
£  fcYr^ing  her  hair. 

4.  Saddled  and  bridled 

and  booted  rade  he  ; 
Too»i  hame  cam  the  saddle, 
but  never  cam  he. 

5.  '  My  meadow  lies  green, 

and  my  corn  is  unshorn, 
My  barn  is  to  build, 

and  my  babe  is  unborn.' 

6.  Saddled  and  bridled 

/v  /z    f  i   /_/?  \}-^jt-'**    A 
and  booted  rade  he  ; 

Toom  hame  cam  the  saddle, 
but  never  cam  he. 


RALLADS.  163 


BESSIE    BELL    AND    MARY   GRAY. 

O  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 

They  war  twa  bonnie  lasses  ! 
They  bigget  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae, 

And  theekit  it  oer  wi  rashes. 

They  theekit  it  oer  wi  rashes  green, 
They  theekit  it  oer  wi  heather  ; 

But  the  pest  cam  frae  the  burrows-town, 
And  slew  them  baith  thegither. 

They  thought  to  lie  in  Methven  kirk-yard 

Amang  their  noble  kin  ; 
But  they  maun  lye  in  Stronach  haugh, 

To  biek  forenent  the  sin. 

And  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 

They  war  twa  bonnie  lasses  ; 
They  biggit  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae, 

And  theekit  it  oer  wi  rashes. 


164  BALLADS. 


SIR    HUGH. 

1.  Four  and  twenty  bonny  boys 

Were  playing  at  the  ba, 
And  by  it  came  him  sweet  Sir  Hugh, 
And  he  playd  oer  them  a'. 

2.  He  kickd  the  ba  with  his  right  foot, 

And  catchd  it  wi  his  knee, 
And  throuch-and-thro  the  Jew's  window 
He  gard  the  bonny  ba  flee. 

3.  He's  doen  him  to  the  Jew's  castell, 

And  walkd  it  round  about ; 
And  there  he  saw  the  Jew's  daughter 
At  the  window  looking  out. 

4.  '  Throw  down  the  ba,  ye  Jew's  daughter, 

Throw  down  the  ba  to  me  ! ' 
'  Never  a  bit,'  says  the  Jew's  daughter, 
'  Till  up  to  me  come  ye.' 

5.  'How  will  I  come  up?     How  can  I  come  up? 

How  can  I  come  to  thee  ? 
For  as  ye  did  to  my  auld  father, 
The  same  ye  '11  do  to  me.' 

6.  She  's  gane  till  her  father's  garden, 

And  pu'd  an  apple,  red  and  green  ; 
'Twas  a'  to  wyle  him  sweet  Sir  Hugh, 
And  to  entice  him  in. 


BALLADS.  165 

7.  She  's  led  him  in  through  ae  dark  door, 

And  sae  has  she  thro  nine ; 
She  's  laid  him  on  a  dressing-table, 
And  stickit  him  like  a  swine. 

8.  And  first  came  out  the  thick,  thick  blood, 

And  syne  came  out  the  thin, 
And  syne  came  out  the  bonny  heart's  blood  ; 
There  was  nae  mair  within. 

9.  She  's  rowd  him  in  a  cake  o  lead, 

Bade  him  lie  still  and  sleep  ; 
She  's  thrown  him  in  Our  Lady's  draw-well, 
Was  fifty  fathom  deep. 

10.  When  bells  were  rung,  and  mass  was  sung, 

And  a'  the  bairns  came  hame, 
When  every  lady  gat  hame  her  son, 
The  Lady  Maisry  gat  nane. 

11.  She  's  taen  her  mantle  her  about, 

Her  coffer  by  the  hand, 
And  she  's  gane  out  to  seek  her  son, 
And  wanderd  oer  the  land. 

12.  She  's  doen  her  to  the  Jew's  castell, 

Where  a'  were  fast  asleep  : 
1  Gin  ye  be  there,  my  sweet  Sir  Hugh, 
I  pray  you  to  me  speak.' 

13.  She  's  doen  her  to  the  Jew's  garden, 

Thought  he  had  been  gathering  fruit  : 
'Gin  ye  be  there,  my  sweet  Sir  Hugh, 
I  pray  you  to  me  speak.' 


166  BALLADS. 

14.  She  neard  Our  Lady's  deep  draw-well, 

Was  fifty  fathom  deep  : 
'  Whareer  ye  be,  my  sweet  Sir  Hugh, 
I  pray  you  to  me  speak.' 

15.  'Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  my  mither  dear, 

Prepare  my  winding  sheet, 
And  at  the  back  o  merry  Lincoln 
The  morn  I  will  you  meet.' 

1 6.  Now  Lady  Maisry  is  gane  hame, 

Made  him  a  winding  sheet, 
And  at  the  back  o  merry  Lincoln 
The  dead  corpse  did  her  meet. 

17.  And  a'  the  bells  o  merry  Lincoln 

Without  men's  hands  were  rung, 
And  a'  the  books  o  merry  Lincoln 

Were  read  without  man's  tongue, 
And  neer  was  such  a  burial 

Sin  Adam's  days  begun. 


BALLADS.  167 


THE   THREE   RAVENS. 

1.  There  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree, 

Downe  a  downe,  hay  down,  hay  downe, 
There  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree, 

With  a  downe, 

There  were  three  ravens  sat  on  a  tree, 
They  were  as  blacke  as  they  might  be. 

With  a  downe  derrie,  derrie,  derrie,  downe,  downe. 

2.  The  one  of  them  said  to  his  mate, 

'  Where  shall  we  our  breakfast  take  ? ' 

3.  '  Downe  in  yonder  greene  field 

There  lies  a  knight  slain  under  his  shield. 

4.  '  His  hounds  they  lie  down  at  his  feete, 
So  well  they  can  their  master  keepe. 

5.  '  His  haukes  they  flie  so  eagerly, 
There's  no  fowle  dare  him  come  nie.' 

6.  Downe  there  comes  a  fallow  doe, 

As  great  with  young  as  she  might  goe. 

7.  She  lift  up  his  bloudy  hed, 

And  kist  his  wounds  that  were  so  red. 

8.  She  got  him  up  upon  her  backe, 
And  carried  him  to  earthen  lake. 

9.  She  buried  him  before  the  prime, 

She  was  dead  herselfe  ere  even-song  time. 

10.     God  send  every  gentleman 

Such  haukes,  such  hounds,  and  such  a  leman. 


168  BALLADS. 


LORD    RANDAL. 

1 .  '  O  where  hae  ye  been,  Lord  Randal,  my  son  ? 

O  where  hae  ye  been,  my  handsome  young  man  ? ' 
'  I  hae  been  to  the  wild  wood  ;  mother,  make  my  bed 

soon, 
For  I'm  weary  wi  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.' 

2.  'Where  gat  ye  your  dinner,  Lord  Randal,  my  son? 
Where  gat   ye    your   dinner,   my   handsome    young 

man?' 

' 1  din'd  wi  my  true-love  ;  mother,  make  my  bed  soon, 
For  I'm  weary  wi  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.' 

3.  'What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner,  Lord  Randal,  my  son? 
What  gat  ye  to  your  dinner,  my  handsome  young 

man  ? ' 
'  I  gat  eels  boiled  in  broo  ;   mother,  make  my  bed 

soon, 
For  I'm  weary  wi  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.' 

4.  '  What  became  of  your  bloodhounds,  Lord  Randal, 

my  son  ? 
What  became  of  your  bloodhounds,  my  handsome 

young  man  ? ' 
'  O  they  swelld  and  they  died  ;  mother,  make  my  bed 

soon, 
For  I'm  weary  wi  hunting,  and  fain  wald  lie  down.' 

5.  'O  I  fear  ye  are  poisond,  Lord  Randal,  my  son  ! 

O  I  fear  ye  are  poisond,  my  handsome  young  man  ! ' 
'O  yes  !  I  am  poisond  ;  mother,  make  my  bed  soon, 
For  I'm  sick  at  the  heart,  and  I  fain  wald  lie  down.' 


BALLADS.  169 


EDWARD. 

'Why  dois  your  brand  sae  drap  wi  bluid, 

Edward,  Edward, 
Why  dois  your  brand  sae  drap  wi  bluid, 

And  why  sae  sad  gang  yee  O  ? ' 
'  O  I  hae  killed  my  hauke  sae  guid, 
Mither,  mither, 

O  I  hae  killed  my  hauke  sae  guid, 
And  I  had  nae  mair  bot  hee  O.' 

'  Your  haukis  bluid  was  nevir  sae  reid, 

Edward,  Edward, 
Your  haukis  bluid  was  never  sae  reid, 

My  deir  son  I  tell  thee  O.' 
'  O  I  hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

Mither,  mither, 
O  I  hae  killed  my  reid-roan  steid, 

That  erst  was  sae  fair  and  frie  O.' 

'  Your  steid  was  auld,  and  ye  hae  gat  mair, 

Edward,  Edward, 
Your  steid  was  auld,  and  ye  hae  gat  mair, 

Sum  other  dule  ye  drie  O.' 
'  O  I  hae  killed  my  fadir  deir, 

Mither,  mither, 
O  I  hae  killed  my  fadir  deir, 
Alas,  and  wae  is  mee  O  ! ' 

'  And  whatten  penance  wul  ye  drie,  for  that, 

Edward,  Edward, 

And  whatten  penance  wul  ye  drie,  for  that  ? 
My  deir  son,  now  tell  me  O.' 


170  BALLADS. 

'  He  set  my  feit  in  yonder  boat, 

Mither,  mither, 

lie  set  my  feit  in  yonder  boat, 
And  He  fare  ovir  the  sea  O.' 

5.  'And  what  wul  ye  doe  wi  your  towirs  and  your  ha, 

Edward,  Edward, 
And  what  wul  ye  doe  wi  your  towirs  and  your  ha, 

That  were  sae  fair  to  see  O  ?•' 
'  He  let  thame  stand  tul  they  doun  fa, 

Mither,  mither, 
He  let  thame  stand  tul  they  doun  fa, 

For  here  nevir  mair  maun  I  bee  O.' 

6.  '  And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 

Edward,  Edward, 
And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  bairns  and  your  wife, 

Whan  ye  gang  ovir  the  sea  O  ? ' 
'  The  warldis  room,  late  them  beg  thrae  life, 

Mither,  mither, 

The  warldis  room,  late  them  beg  thrae  life, 
For  thame  nevir  mair  wul  I  see  O.' 

7.  'And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  ain  mither  dear, 

Edward,  Edward, 
And  what  wul  ye  leive  to  your  ain  mither  dear  ? 

My  deir  son,  now  tell  me  O.' 
'The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ye  beir, 

Mither,  mither, 

The  curse  of  hell  frae  me  sail  ye  beir, 
Sic  counseils  ye  gave  to  me  O.' 


BALLADS.  171 


THE   TWA    SISTERS. 

1.  There  was  twa  sisters  in  a  bowr, 

Edinburgh,  Edinburgh, 
There  was  twa  sisters  in  a  bowr, 

Stirling  for  ay, 

There  was  twa  sisters  in  a  bowr, 
There  came  a  knight  to  be  their  wooer. 
Bonny  Saint  Johnston  stands  upon  Tay. 

2.  He  courted  the  eldest  wi  glove  an  ring, 
But  he  lovd  the  youngest  above  a'  thing. 

3.  He  courted  the  eldest  wi  brotch  an  knife, 
But  lovd  the  youngest  as  his  life. 

4.  The  eldest  she  was  vexed  sair, 
An  much  envi'd  her  sister  fair. 

5.  Upon  a  morning  fair  an  clear, 
She  cried  upon  her  sister  dear  : 

6.  '  O  sister,  come  to  yon  sea  stran, 

An  see  our  father's  ships  come  to  Ian.' 

7.  She's  taen  her  by  the  milk-white  han, 
An  led  her  down  to  yon  sea  stran. 

8.  The  youngest  stood  upon  a  stane, 
The  eldest  came  and  threw  her  in. 

9.  She  took  her  by  the  middle  sma, 

An  dashd  her  bonnie  back  to  the  jaw.  .. 


172  BALLADS. 

10.  '  O  sister,  sister,  tak  my  han, 

An  Ise  mack  you  heir  to  a '  my  Ian. 

11.  'O  sister,  sister,  tak  my  middle, 

An  yes  get  my  goud  and  my  gouden  girdle. 

12.  'O  sister,  sister,  save  my  life, 

An  I  swear  Ise  never  be  nae  man's  wife.' 

13.  '  Foul  fa  the  han  that  I  should  tacke, 
It  twind  me  an  my  warldes  make. 

14.  'Your  cherry  cheeks  an  yallow  hair 
Gars  me  gae  maiden  for  evermair.' 

15.  Sometimes  she  sank,  an  sometimes  she  swam, 
Till  she  came  down  yon  bonny  mill-dam. 

1 6.  O  out  it  came  the  miller's  son, 
An  saw  the  fair  maid  swimmin  in. 

17.  'O  father,  father,  draw  your  dam, 
Here's  either  a  mermaid  or  a  swan.' 

1 8.  The  miller  quickly  drew  the  dam, 
And  there  he  found  a  drownd  woman. 

19.  You  coudna  see  her  yallow  hair 

For  gold  and  pearle  that  were  so  rare. 

20.  You  coudna  see  her  middle  sma 
For  gouden  girdle  that  was  sae  braw. 

2 1 .  You  coudna  see  her  fingers  white 
For  gouden  rings  that  was  sae  gryte. 


BALLADS.  173 

22.  An  by  there  came  a  harper  fine, 
That  harped  to  the  king  at  dine. 

23.  When  he  did  look  that  lady  upon, 
He  sighd  and  made  a  heavy  moan. 

24.  He's  taen  three  locks  o  her  yallow  hair, 
An  wi  them  strung  his  harp  sae  fair. 

25.  The  first  tune  he  did  play  and  sing, 
Was,  '  Farewell  to  my  father  the  king.' 

26.  The  nextin  tune  that  he  playd  syne, 
Was,  '  Farewell  to  my  mother  the  queen.' 

27.  The  lasten  tune  that  he  playd  then, 
Was,  '  Wae  to  my  sister,  fair  Ellen.' 


174  BALLADS. 


THE   TWA    BROTHERS. 

1.  There  were  twa  brethren  in  the  north, 

They  went  to  the  school  thegither ; 
The  one  unto  the  other  said, 
'  Will  you  try  a  warsle  afore  ? ' 

2.  They  warsled  up,  they  warsled  down, 

Till  Sir  John  fell  to  the  ground, 
And  there  was  a  knife  in  Sir  Willie's  pouch, 
Gied  him  a  deadlie  wound. 

3.  'Oh  brither  dear,  take  me  on  your  back, 

Carry  me  to  yon  burn  clear, 
And  wash  the  blood  from  off  my  wound, 
And  it  will  bleed  nae  mair.' 

4.  He  took  him  up  upon  his  back, 

Carried  him  to  yon  burn  clear, 
And  washd  the  blood  from  off  his  wound, 
But  aye  it  bled  the  mair. 

5.  '  Oh  brither  dear,  take  me  on  your  back, 

Carry  me  to  yon  kirk-yard, 
And  dig  a  grave  baith  wide  and  deep, 
And  lay  my  body  there.' 

6.  He 's  taen  him  up  upon  his  back, 

Carried  him  to  yon  kirk-yard, 
And  dug  a  grave  baith  deep  and  wide, 
And  laid  his  body  there. 


BALLADS.  175 

7.  '  But  what  will  I  say  to  my  father  dear, 

Gin  he  chance  to  say,  Willie,  whar  's  John  ? ' 
'  Oh  say  that  he  's  to  England  gone, 
To  buy  him  a  cask  of  wine.' 

8.  '  And  what  will  I  say  to  my  mother  dear, 

Gin  she  chance  to  say,  Willie,  whar's  John  ? ' 
'  Oh  say  that  he 's  to  England  gone, 
To  buy  her  a  new  silk  gown.' 

9.  '  And  what  will  I  say  to  my  sister  dear, 

Gin  she  chance  to  say,  Willie,  whar 's  John  ? ' 
'  Oh  say  that  he 's  to  England  gone, 
To  buy  her  a  wedding  ring.' 

ro.     *  But  what  will  I  say  to  her  you  loe  dear, 

Gin  she  cry,  Why  tarries  my  John  ? ' 
'  Oh  tell  her  I  lie  in  Kirk-land  fair, 
And  home  again  will  never  come.' 


176  BALLADS. 


BEWICK   AND    GRAHAME. 

1.  Old  Grahame  he  is  to  Carlisle  gone, 

Where  Sir  Robert  Bewick  there  met  he ; 
In  arms  to  the  wine  they  are  gone, 
And  drank  till  they  were  both  merry. 

2.  Old  Grahame  he  took  up  the  cup, 

And  said,  '  Brother  Bewick,  here's  to  thee, 
And  here's  to  our  two  sons  at  home, 
For  they  live  best  in  our  country.' 

3.  'Nay,  were  thy  son  as  good  as  mine, 

And  of  some  books  he  could  but  read, 
With  sword  and  buckler  by  his  side, 
To  see  how  he  could  save  his  head, 

4.  'They  might  have  been  calld  two  bold  brethren 

Where  ever  they  did  go  or  ride ; 
They  might  have  been  calld  two  bold  brethren, 
They  might  have  crackd  the  Border-side. 

5.  'Thy  son  is  bad,  and  is  but  a  lad, 

And  bully  to  my  son  cannot  be ; 
For  my  son  Bewick  can  both  write  and  read, 
And  sure  I  am  that  cannot  he.' 

6.  '  I  put  him  to  school,  but  he  would  not  learn, 

I  bought  him  books,  but  he  would  not  read ; 
But  my  blessing  he's  never  have 

Till  I  see  how  his  hand  can  save  his  head.' 


BALLADS.  177 

7.  Old  Grahame  called  for  an  account, 

And  he  askd  what  was  for  to  pay ; 
There  he  paid  a  crown,  so  it  went  round, 
Which  was  all  for  good  wine  and  hay. 

8.  Old  Grahame  is  into  the  stable  gone, 

Where  stood  thirty  good  steeds  and  three  ; 
He's  taken  his  own  steed  by  the  head, 
And  home  rode  he  right  wantonly. 

9.  When  he  came  home,  there  did  he  espy 

A  loving  sight  to  spy  or  see, 
There  did  he  espy  his  own  three  sons, 

Young  Christy  Grahame,  the  foremost  was  he. 

10.     There  did  he  espy  his  own  three  sons, 

Young  Christy  Grahame,  the  foremost  was  he  : 
'Where  have  you  been  all  day,  father, 

That  no  counsel  you  would  take  by  me  ? ' 

n.     'Nay,  I  have  been  in  Carlisle  town, 

Where  Sir  Robert  Bewick  there  met  me ; 
He  said  thou  was  bad,  and  calld  thee  a  lad, 
And  a  baffled  man  by  thou  I  be. 

12.  'He  said  thou  was  bad,  and  calld  thee  a  lad, 

And  bully  to  his  son  cannot  be  ; 
For  his  son  Bewick  can  both  write  and  read, 
And  sure  I  am  that  cannot  thee. 

13.  'I  put  thee  to  school,  but  thou  would  not  learn, 

I  bought  thee  books,  but  thou  would  not  read ; 
But  my  blessing  thou's  never  have 

Till  I  see  with  Bewick  thou  can  save  thy  head.' 


178  BALLADS. 

1 4.  '  Oh,  pray  forbear,  my  father  dear ; 

That  ever  such  a  thing  should  be ! 
Shall  I  venture  my  body  in  field  to  fight 
With  a  man  that's  faith  and  troth  to  me  ? ' 

15.  'What's  that  thou  sayst,  thou  limmer  loon? 

Or  how  dare  thou  stand  to  speak  to  me  ? 
If  thou  do  not  end  this  quarrel  soon, 
Here  is  my  glove  thou  shalt  fight  me.' 

1 6.  Christy  stoopd  low  unto  the  ground, 

Unto  the  ground,  as  you'll  understand  : 
'O  father,  put  on  your  glove  again, 

The  wind  hath  blown  it  from  your  hand.' 

17.  'What's  that  thou  sayst,  thou  limmer  loon? 

Or  how  dare  thou  stand  to  speak  to  me  ? 
If  thou  do  not  end  this  quarrel  soon, 
Here  is  my  hand  thou  shalt  fight  me.' 

1 8.  Christy  Grahame  is  to  his  chamber  gone, 

And  for  to  study,  as  well  might  be, 
Whether  to  fight  with  his  father  dear, 
Or  with  his  bully  Bewick  he. 

19.  'If  it  be  my  fortune  my  bully  to  kill, 

As  you  shall  boldly  understand, 
In  every  town  that  I  ride  through, 

They'll  say,  There  rides  a  brotherless  man  ! 

20.  'Nay,  for  to  kill  my  bully  dear, 

I  think  it  will  be  a  deadly  sin  ; 
And  for  to  kill  my  father  dear, 

The  blessing  of  heaven  I  ne'er  shall  win. 


BALLADS.  179 

21.  'O  give  me  my  blessing,  father,'  he  said, 

'  And  pray  well  for  me  for  to  thrive ; 
If  it  be  my  fortune  my  bully  to  kill, 
I  swear  I  '11  neer  come  home  alive.' 

22.  He  put  on  his  back  a  good  plate- jack, 

And  on  his  head  a  cap  of  steel, 
With  sword  and  buckler  by  his  side ; 

0  gin  he  did  not  become  them  weel  ! 

23.  '  O  fare  thee  well,  my  father  dear  ! 

And  fare  thee  well,  thou  Carlisle  town  ! 
If  it  be  my  fortune  my  bully  to  kill, 

1  swear  I  '11  neer  eat  bread  again.' 

24.  Now  we  '11  leave  talking  of  Christy  Grahame, 

And  talk  of  him  again  belive  ; 
But  we  will  talk  of  bonny  Bewick, 

Where  he  was  teaching  his  scholars  five. 

25.  Now  when  he  had  learnd  them  well  to  fence, 

To  handle  their  swords  without  any  doubt, 
He  's  taken  his  own  sword  under  his  arm, 
And  walkd  his  father's  close  about. 

26.  He  lookd  between  him  and  the  sun, 

To  see  what  farleys  he  could  see ; 
There  he  spy'd  a  man  with  armour  on, 
As  he  came  riding  over  the  lee. 

27.  'I  wonder  much  what  man  yon  be 

That  so  boldly  this  way  does  come  ; 
I  think  it  is  my  nighest  friend, 
I  think  it  is  my  bully  Grahame. 


180  BALLADS. 

28.  '  O  welcome,  O  welcome,  bully  Grahame  ! 

O  man,  thou  art  my  dear,  welcome  ! 

0  man,  thou  art  my  dear,  welcome  ! 
For  I  love  thee  best  in  Christendom.' 

29.  'Away,  away,  O  bully  Bewick, 

And  of  thy  bullyship  let  me  be  ! 
The  day  is  come  I  never  thought  on  ; 

Bully,  I  'm  come  here  to  fight  with  thee.' 

30.  '  O  no  !  not  so,  O  bully  Grahame  ! 

That  eer  such  a  word  should  spoken  be  ! 

1  was  thy  master,  thou  was  my  scholar : 

So  well  as  I  have  learned  thee.' 

31.  '  My  father  he  was  in  Carlisle  town, 

Where  thy  father  Bewick  there  met  he  ; 
He  said  I  was  bad,  and  he  called  me  a  lad, 
And  a  baffled  man  by  thou  I  be.' 

32.  'Away,  away,  O  bully  Grahame, 

And  of  all  that  talk,  man,  let  us  be  ! 
We  '11  take  three  men  of  either  side 
To  see  if  we  can  our  fathers  agree.' 

33.  'Away,  away,  O  bully  Bewick, 

And  of  thy  bullyship  let  me  be  ! 
But  if  thou  be  a  man,  as  I  trow  thou  art, 
Come  over  this  ditch  and  fight  with  me.' 

34.  '  O  no,  not  so,  my  bully  Grahame  ! 

That  eer  such  a  word  should  spoken  be  ! 
Shall  I  venture  my  body  in  field  to  fight 
With  a  man  that 's  faith  and  troth  to  me  ? ' 


BALLADS.  181 

35.  'Away,  away,  O  bully  Bewick, 

And  of  all  that  care,  man,  let  us  be  ! 
If  thou  be  a  man,  as  I  trow  thou  art, 
Come  over  this  ditch  and  fight  with  me.' 

36.  '  Now,  if  it  be  my  fortune  thee,  Grahame,  to  kill, 

As  God's  will,  man,  it  all  must  be  ; 
But  if  it  be  my  fortune  thee,  Grahame,  to  kill, 
'Tis  home  again  I  '11  never  gae.' 

37.  'Thou  art  of  my  mind,  then,  bully  Bewick, 

And  sworn-brethren  will  we  be  ; 
If  thou  be  a  man,  as  I  trow  thou  art, 

Come  over  this  ditch  and  fight  with  me.' 

38.  He  flang  his  cloak  from  off  his  shoulders, 

His  psalm-book  out  of  his  hand  flung  he, 
He  clapd  his  hand  upon  the  hedge, 
And  oer  lap  he  right  wantonly. 

39.  When  Grahame  did  see  his  bully  come, 

The  salt  tear  stood  long  in  his  eye  : 
'  Now  needs  must  I  say  that  thou  art  a  man, 
That  dare  venture  thy  body  to  fight  with  me. 

40.  '  Now  I  have  a  harness  on  my  back ; 

I  know  that  thou  hath  none  on  thine ; 
But  as  little  as  thou  hath  on  thy  back, 
Sure  as  little  shall  there  be  on  mine.' 

41.  He  flang  his  jack  from  off  his  back, 

His  steel  cap  from  his  head  flang  he ; 
He's  taken  his  sword  into  his  hand, 
He's  tyed  his  horse  unto  a  tree. 


182  BALLADS. 

42.  Now  they  fell  to  it  with  two  broad  swords, 

For  two  long  hours  fought  Bewick  and  he ; 
Much  sweat  was  to  be  seen  on  them  both, 
But  never  a  drop  of  blood  to  see. 

43.  Now  Grahame  gave  Bewick  an  ackward  stroke, 

An  ackward  stroke  surely  struck  he  ; 
He  struck  him  now  under  the  left  breast, 
Then  down  to  the  ground  as  dead  fell  he. 

44.  'Arise,  arise,  O  bully  Bewick, 

Arise,  and  speak  three  words  to  me ! 
Whether  this  be  thy  deadly  wound, 

Or  God  and  good  surgeons  will  mend  thee.' 

45.  'O  horse,  O  horse,  O  bully  Grahame, 

And  pray  do  get  thee  far  from  me ! 
Thy  sword  is  sharp,  it  hath  wounded  my  heart, 
And  so  no  further  can  I  gae. 

46.  '  O  horse,  O  horse,  O  bully  Grahame, 

And  get  thee  far  from  me  with  speed ! 
And  get  thee  out  of  this  country  quite  ! 

That  none  may  know  who's  done  the  deed.' 

47.  'O  if  this  be  true,  my  bully  dear, 

The  words  that  thou  dost  tell  to  me, 
The  vow  I  made,  and  the  vow  I'll  keep, 
I  swear  I'll  be  the  first  to  die.' 

48.  Then  he  stuck  his  sword  in  a  moudie-hill, 

Where  he  lap  thirty  good  foot  and  three ; 
First  he  bequeathed  his  soul  to  God, 
And  upon  his  own  sword-point  lap  he. 


BALLADS.  183 

49.  Now  Grahame  he  was  the  first  that  died, 

And  then  came  Robin  Bewick  to  see ; 
'Arise,  arise,  O  son,'  he  said, 

'For  I  see  thou's  won  the  victory. 

50.  'Arise,  arise,  O  son,'  he  said, 

'  For  I  see  thou's  won  the  victory ; ' 
'  Father,  could  ye  not  drunk  your  wine  at  home, 
And  letten  me  and  my  brother  be  ? 

51.  '  Nay,  dig  a  grave  both  low  and  wide, 

And  in  it  us  two  pray  bury ; 
But  bury  my  bully  Grahame  on  the  sun-side, 
For  I'm  sure  he's  won  the  victory.' 

52.  Now  we'll  leave  talking  of  these  two  brethren, 

In  Carlisle  town  where  they  lie  slain, 
And  talk  of  these  two  good  old  men, 
Where  they  were  making  a  pitiful  moan. 

53.  With  that  bespoke  now  Robin  Bewick : 

'  O  man  was  I  not  much  to  blame  ? 
I  have  lost  one  of  the  liveliest  lads 
That  ever  was  bred  unto  my  name.' 

54.  With  that  bespoke  my  good  lord  Grahame  : 

'  O  man,  I  have  lost  the  better  block ; 
I  have  lost  my  comfort  and  my  joy, 

I  have  lost  my  key,  I  have  lost  my  lock. 

55.  'Had  I  gone  through  all  Ladderdale, 

And  forty  horse  had  set  on  me, 
Had  Christy  Grahame  been  at  my  back, 
So  well  as  he  would  guarded  me.' 


184  BALLADS.  ' 

56.     I  have  no  more  of  my  song  to  sing, 

But  two  or  three  words  to  you  I'll  name ; 
But  'twill  be  talked  in  Carlisle  town 

That  these  two  old  men  were  all  the  blame. 


BALLADS,  185 


THE   CRUEL    BROTHER. 

1.  There  was  three  ladies  playd  at  the  ba,/ 

With  a  hey  ho  and  a  lillie  gay, 
There  came  a  knight  and  played  oer  them  a', 
As  the  primrose  spreads  so  sweetly. 

2.  One  o  them  was  clad  in  red: 

He  asked  if  she  wad  be  his  bride. 

3.  One  o  them  was  clad  in  green: 
He  asked  if  she  wad  be  his  queen. 

4.  The  last  o  them  was  clad  in  white: 

He  asked  if  she  wad  be  his  heart's  deliht. 


5.     'Ye  may  ga  ask  my  father,  the  king: 

Sae  maun  ye  ask  my  nmher,  the  queen. 

•  3 


6.  'Sae  maun  ye  ask  my  sister  Anne: 
And  dinna  forget  my  brither  John.' 

7.  He  has  asked  her  father,  the  king: 
And  sae  did  he  her  mither,  the  queen. 

8.  And  he  has  asked  her  sister  Anne  • 
But  he  has  forgot  her  brother  John. 

• 

9.  Now,  when  the  wedding  day  was  come, 

The  knight  would  take  his  bonny  bride  home. 


186  BALLADS. 

10.  And  many  a  lord  and  many  a  knight 
Came  to  behold  that  ladie  bright. 

1 1 .  And  there  was  nae  man  that  did  her  see, 
But  wishd  himself  bridegroom  to  be. 

12.  Her  father  dear  led  her  down  the  stair, 
And  her  sisters  twain  they  kissd  her  there. 

13.  Her  mother  dear  led  her  thro  the  closs, 
And  her  brother  John  set  her  on  her  horse. 

14.  She  leand  her  oer  the  saddle-bow, 
To  give  him  a  kiss  ere  she  did  go. 

15.  He  has  taen  a  knife,  baith  lang  and  sharp, 
And  stabbd  that  bonny  bride  to  the  heart. 

1 6.  She  hadno  ridden  half  thro  the  town, 
Until  her  heart's  blude  staind  her  gown. 

17.  'Ride  up,  ride  up,'  said  the  foremost  man  ; 
'  I  think  our  bride  comes  hooly  on.' 

1 8.  'Ride  up,  ride  up,'  said  the  second  man; 
'  1  think  our  bride  looks  pale  and  wan.' 

19.  'O  lead  me  gently  up  yon  hill, 

And  I'll  there  sit  down,  and  make  my  will.' 

20.  '  O  what  will  you  leave  to  your  father  dear  ? ' 

'  The  silver-shod  steed  that  brought  me  here.' 

• 

21.  '  What  will  you  leave  to  your  mother  dear  ? ' 
'  My  velvet  pall  and  my  silken  gear.' 


BALLADS.  187 

22.  'What  will  you  leave  to  your  sister  Anne  ? ' 
'  My  silken  scarf  and  my  gowden  fan.' 

23.  'What  will  you  leave  to  your  sister  Grace?' 
'  My  bloody  cloaths  to  wash  and  dress.' 

24.  'What  will  you  leave  to  your  brother  John?' 
'The  gallows-tree  to  hang  him  on.' 

25.  'What  will  you  leave  to  your  brother  John's  wife  ? ' 
'The  wilderness  to  end  her  life.' 


188  BALLADS. 


BABYLON;    OR   THE   BONNIE   BANKS   O 
FORDIE. 

1.  There  were  three  ladies  lived  in  a  bower, 

Eh  vow  bonnie, 
And  they  went  out  to  pull  a  flower 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o  Fordie. 

2.  They  hadna  pu  'ed  a  flower  but  ane, 
When  up  started  to  them  a  banisht  man. 

3.  He  's  taen  the  first  sister  by  her  hand, 

And  he  's  turned  her  round  and  made  her  stand. 

4.  'It 's  whether  will  ye  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 
Or  will  ye  die  by  my  wee  pen-knife  ? ' 

5.  '  It 's  I  '11  not  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 
But  I  '11  rather  die  by  your  wee  pen-knife.' 

6.  He  's  killed  this  may,  and  he  's  laid  her  by, 
For  to  bear  the  red  rose  company. 

7.  He  's  taken  the  second  ane  by  the  hand, 

And  he  's  turned  her  round  and  made  her  stand. 

8.  '  It 's  whether  will  ye  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 
Or  will  ye  die  by  my  wee  pen-knife  ? ' 

9.  '  I  '11  not  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 

But  I  '11  rather  die  by  your  wee  pen-knife.' 


BALLADS.  189 

10.  He  's  killed  this  may,  and  he  's  laid  her  by, 
For  to  bear  the  red  rose  company. 

11.  He  's  taken  the  youngest  ane  by  the  hand, 

And  he  's  turned  her  round,  and  made  her  stand. 

12.  Says,  'Will  ye  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 
Or  will  ye  die  by  my  wee  pen-knife  ?  ' 

13.  '  I  '11  not  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 
Nor  will  I  die  by  your  wee  pen-knife. 

14.  'For  I  hae  a  brother  in  this  wood, 
And  gin  ye  kill  me,  it 's  he  '11  kill  thee.' 

15.  'What 's  thy  brother's  name  ?  Come  tell  to  me.' 
'  My  brother's  name  is  Baby  Lon.' 

1 6.  '  O  sister,  sister,  what  have  I  done  ! 
O  have  I  done  this  ill  to  thee  ! 

17.  'O  since  I've  done  this  evil  deed, 
Good  sail  never  be  seen  o  me.' 

1 8.  He  's  taken  out  his  wee  pen-knife, 

And  he's  twyned  himsel  o  his  ain  sweet  life. 


190  BALLADS. 


CHILD    MAURICE. 

Childe  Maurice  hunted  ithe  silver  wood, 

He  hunted  it  round  about, 
And  noebodye  that  he  found  therin, 

Nor  none  there  was  with-out. 

He  sayes,  '  Come  hither,  thou  litle  foot-page, 
That  runneth  lowlye  by  my  knee, 

For  thou  shalt  goe  to  John  Stewards  wife 
And  pray  her  speake  with  mee. 


I,  and  greete  thou  doe  that  ladye  well, 
Ever  soe  well  froe  mee. 

4.  '  And,  as  it  falls,  as  many  times 

As  knotts  beene  knitt  on  a  kell, 
Or  marchant  men  gone  to  leeve  London 
Either  to  buy  ware  or  sell. 

5.  '  And,  as  it  falles,  as  many  times 

As  any  hart  can  thinke, 
Or  schoole-masters  are  in  any  schoole-house 

Writing  with  pen  and  inke  : 
For  if  I  might,  as  well  as  shee  may, 

This  night  I  wold  with  her  speake. 

6.  '  And  heere  I  send  her  a  mantle  of  greene, 

As  greene  as  any  grasse, 
And  bid  her  come  to  the  silver  wood, 
To  hunt  with  Child  Maurice. 


BALLADS.  191 

7.  '  And  there  I  send  her  a  ring  of  gold, 

A  ring  of  precyous  stone, 
And  bidd  her  come  to  the  silver  wood, 
Let  for  no  kind  of  man.' 

8.  One  while  this  litle  boy  he  yode, 

Another  while  he  ran, 
Untill  he  came  to  John  Stewards  hall, 
I-wis  he  never  blan. 

9.  And  of  nurture  the  child  had  good, 

Hee  ran  up  hall  and  bower  free, 

And  when  he  came  to  this  lady  faire, 

Sayes,  '  God  you  save  and  see  ! 

10.  'I  am  come  from  Child  Maurice, 

A  message  unto  thee  ; 
And  Child  Maurice,  he  greetes  you  well, 
And  ever  soe  well  from  mee. 

11.  '  And,  as  it  falls,  as  oftentimes 

As  knotts  beene  knitt  on  a  kell, 
Or  marchant  men  gone  to  leeve  London 
Either  for  to  buy  ware  or  sell. 

12.  'And  as  oftentimes  he  greetes  you  well 

As  any  hart  can  thinke, 
Or  schoolemasters  are  in  any  schoole, 
Wryting  with  pen  and  inke. 

13.  '  And  heere  he  sends  a  mantle  of  greene, 

As  greene  as  any  grasse, 
And  he  bids  you  come  to  the  silver  wood, 
To  hunt  with  Child  Maurice. 


192  BALLADS. 

14.  'And  heere  he  sends  you  a  ring  of  gold, 

A  ring  of  the  precyous  stone  ; 
He  prayes  you  to  come  to  the  silver  wood, 
Let  for  no  kind  of  man.' 

15.  '  Now  peace,  now  peace,  thou  litle  footpage, 

For  Christes  sake,  I  pray  thee ! 
For  if  my  lord  heare  one  of  these  words, 
Thou  must  be  hanged  hye  ! ' 

1 6.  John  Steward  stood  under  the  castle  wall, 

And  he  wrote  the  words  everye  one, 


17.  And  he  called  unto  his  hors-keeper, 

'  Make  readye  you  my  steede  ! ' 
I,  and  soe  he  did  to  his  chamberlaine, 
'  Make  readye  thou  my  weede  ! ' 

1 8.  And  he  cast  a  lease  upon  his  backe, 

And  he  rode  to  the  silver  wood, 
And  there  he  sought  all  about, 
About  the  silver  wood. 

19.  And  there  he  found  him  Child  Maurice 

Sitting  upon  a  blocke, 
With  a  silver  combe  in  his  hand, 
Kembing  his  yellow  lockes. 


20.     But  then  stood  up  him  Child  Maurice, 

And  sayd  these  words  trulye : 
1 1  doe  not  know  your  ladye,'  he  said, 
1  If  that  I  doe  her  see.' 


BALLADS.  193 

21.  He  sayes,  'How  now,  how  now,  Child  Maurice? 

Alacke,  how  may  this  bee  ? 
For  thou  hast  sent  her  love-tokens, 
More  now  then  two  or  three ; 

22.  '  For  thou  hast  sent  her  a  mantle  of  greene, 

As  greene  as  any  grasse, 
And  bade  her  come  to  the  silver  woode 
To  hunt  with  Child  Maurice. 

23.  '  And  thou  hast  sent  her  a  ring  of  gold, 

A  ring  of  precyous  stone, 
And  bade  her  come  to  the  silver  wood, 
Let  for  noe  kind  of  man. 

24.  '  And  by  my  faith,  now,  Child  Maurice, 

The  tone  of  us  shall  dye ! ' 
'  Now  be  my  troth,'  sayd  Child  Maurice, 
'  And  that  shall  not  be  I.' 

25.  But  hee  pulled  forth  a  bright  browne  sword, 

And  dryed  it  on  the  grasse, 
And  soe  fast  he  smote  at  John  Steward, 
I-wisse  he  never  did  rest. 

26.  Then  hee  pulled  forth  his  bright  browne  sword, 

And  dryed  it  on  his  sleeve, 
And  the  first  good  stroke  John  Stewart  stroke, 
Child  Maurice  head  he  did  cleeve. 

27.  And  he  pricked  it  on  his  swords  poynt, 

Went  singing  there  beside, 
And  he  rode  till  he  came  to  that  ladye  faire, 
Wheras  this  ladye  lyed. 


194  BALLADS. 

28.  And  sayes,  '  Dost  thou  know  Child  Maurice  head, 

If  that  thou  dost  it  see  ? 
And  lap  it  soft,  and  kisse  it  oft, 

For  thou  lovedst  him  better  than  mee.' 

29.  But  when  shee  looked  on  Child  Maurice  head, 

She  never  spake  words  but  three  : 
'  I  never  beare  no  childe  but  one, 
And  you  have  slaine  him  trulye.' 

30.  Sayes,  '  Wicked  be  my  merrymen  all, 

I  gave  meate,  drinke,  and  clothe  ! 
But  cold  they  not  have  holden  me 
When  I  was  in  all  that  wrath  ! 

31.  '  For  I  have  slaine  one  of  the  curteousest  knights 

That  ever  bestrode  a  steed, 
Soe  have  I  done  one  of  the  fairest  ladyes 
That  ever  ware  womans  weede  ! ' 


BALLADS.  195 


THE   WIFE   OF   USHER'S    WELL. 

1.  There  lived  a  wife  at  Usher's  Well, 

And  a  wealthy  wife  was  she ; 
She  had  three  stout  and  stalwart  sons, 
And  sent  them  oer  the  sea. 

2.  They  hadna  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  ane, 
When  word  came  to  the  carline  wife 
That  her  three  sons  were  gane. 

3.  They  hadna  been  a  week  from  her, 

A  week  but  barely  three, 
When  word  came  to  the  carlin  wife 
That  her  sons  she  'd  never  see. 

4.  '  I  wish  the  wind  may  never  cease, 

Nor  fashes  in  the  flood, 
Till  my  three  sons  come  hame  to  me, 
In  earthly  flesh  and  blood.' 

5.  It  fell  about  the  Martinmass, 

When  nights  are  lang  and  mirk, 
The  carlin  wife's  three  sons  came  hame, 
And  their  hats  were  o  the  birk. 

6.  It  neither  grew  in  syke  nor  ditch, 

Nor  yet  in  ony  sheugh ; 
But  at  the  gates  o  Paradise, 
That  birk  grew  fair  eneugh. 


1%  BALLADS. 

7.  '  Blow  up  the  fire,  my  maidens  ! 

Bring  water  from  the  well  ! 
For  a'  my  house  shall  feast  this  night, 
Since  my  three  sons  are  well.' 

8.  And  she  has  made  to  them  a  bed, 

She  's  made  it  large  and  wide, 
And  she  's  ta'en  her  mantle  her  about, 
Sat  down  at  the  bed-side. 


9.     Up  then  crew  the  red,  red  co'ck, 

And  up  and  crew  the  gray ; 

The  eldest  to  the  youngest  said, 

1  'T  is  time  we  were  away.' 

10.  The  cock  he  hadna  craw'd  but  once, 

And  clappd  his  wings  at  a', 
When  the  youngest  to  the  eldest  said, 
'  Brother,  we  must  awa. 

11.  '  The  cock  doth  craw,  the  day  doth  daw, 

The  channerin  worm  doth  chide  ; 
Gin  we  be  mist  out  o  our  place, 
A  sair  pain  we  maun  bide. 

12.  '  Fare  ye  weel,  my  mother  dear  ! 

Fareweel  to  barn  and  byre  ! 
And  fare  ye  weel,  the  bonny  lass 
That  kindles  my  mother's  fire  ! ' 


BALLADS.  197 


CLERK    COLVEN. 

1.  Clark  Colven  and  his  gay  ladie, 

As  they  walked  to  yon  garden  green, 
A  belt  about  her  middle  gimp, 

Which  cost  Clark  Colven  crowns  fifteen  : 

2.  '  O  hearken  weel  now,  my  good  lord, 

O  hearken  weel  to  what  I  say ; 
When  ye  gang  to  the  wall  o  Stream, 

0  gang  nae  neer  the  well-fared  may.' 

3.  '  O  haud  your  tongue,  my  gay  ladie, 

Tak  nae  sic  care  o  me ; 
For  I  nae  saw  a  fair  woman 

1  like  so  well  as  thee.' 

4.  He  mounted  on  his  berry-brown  steed, 

And  merry,  merry  rade  he  on, 
Till  he  came  to  the  wall  o  Stream, 
And  there  he  saw  the  mermaiden. 

5.  '  Ye  wash,  ye  wash,  ye  bonny  may, 

And  ay  's  ye  wash  your  sark  o  silk : ' 
'  It  's  a'  for  you,  ye  gentle  knight, 
My  skin  is  whiter  than  the  milk.' 

6.  He's  taen  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 

He's  taen  her  by  the  sleeve  sae  green, 
And  he's  forgotten  his  gay  ladie, 
And  away  with  the  fair  maiden. 


198  BALLADS. 

7.  '  Ohon,  alas  ! '  says  Clark  Colven, 

'And  aye  sae  sair  's  I  mean  my  head!' 
And  merrily  leugh  the  mermaiden, 
'  O  win  on  till  you  be  dead. 

8.  '  But  out  ye  tak  your  little  pen-knife, 

And  frae  my  sark  ye  shear  a  gare ; 
Row  that  about  your  lovely  head, 

And  the  pain  ye  '11  never  feel  nae  mair.' 

9.  Out  he  has  taen  his  little  pen-knife, 

And  frae  her  sark  he  's  shorn  a  gare, 
Rowed  that  about  his  lovely  head, 

But  the  pain  increased  mair  and  mair. 

10.  '  Ohon,  alas  ! '  says  Clark  Colven, 

'  An  aye  sae  sair  's  I  mean  my  head  ! 
And  merrily  laughd  the  mermaiden, 
'  It  will  ay  be  war  till  ye  be  dead.' 

1 1 .  Then  out  he  drew  his  trusty  blade, 

And  thought  wi  it  to  be  her  dead, 
But  she  's  become  a  fish  again, 
And  merrily  sprang  into  the  fleed. 

12.  He  's  mounted  on  his  berry-brown  steed, 

And  dowy,  dowy,  rade  he  home, 
And  heavily,  heavily  lighted  down 

When  to  his  ladie's  bower-door  he  came. 

13.  'Oh,  mither,  mither,  mak  my  bed, 

And,  gentle  ladie,  lay  me  down  ; 
Oh,  brither,  brither,  unbend  my  bow, 
'T  will  never  be  bent  by  me  again.' 


BALLADS.  199 


14.     His  mither  she  has  made  his  bed, 
His  gentle  ladie  laid  him  down, 
His  brither  he  has  unbent  his  bow, 
'T  was  never  bent  by  him  again. 


200  BALLADS. 


FAIR   MARGARET   AND    SWEET   WILLIAM. 

1.  As  it  fell  out  on  a  long  summer's  day, 

Two  lovers  they  sal  on  a  hill ; 
They  sat  together  that  long  summer's  day, 
And  could  not  talk  their  fill. 

2.  'I  see  no  harm  by  you,  Margaret, 

Nor  you  see  none  by  me  ; 
Before  tomorrow  eight  a  clock 
A  rich  wedding  shall  you  see.' 

3.  Fair  Margaret  sat  in  her  bower-window, 

A  combing  of  her  hair, 

And  there  she  spy'd  Sweet  William  and  his  bride, 
As  they  were  riding  near. 

4.  Down  she  layd  her  ivory  comb, 

And  up  she  bound  her  hair ; 
She  went  her  way  forth  of  her  bower, 
But  never  more  did  come  there. 

5.  When  day  was  gone,  and  night  was  come, 

And  all  men  fast  asleep, 
Then  came  the  spirit  of  Fair  Margaret, 
And  stood  at  William's  feet. 

6.  '  God  give  you  joy,  you  two  true  lovers, 

In  bride-bed  fast  asleep  ; 
Loe  I  am  going  to  my  green  grass  grave, 
And  am  in  my  winding-sheet.' 


BALLADS.  201 

7.  When  day  was  come,  and  night  was  gone, 

And  all  men  wak'd  from  sleep, 
Sweet  William  to  his  lady  said, 
'  My  dear,  I  have  cause  to  weep. 

8.  '  I  dreamed  a  dream,  my  dear  lady ; 

Such  dreams  are  never  good ; 
I  dreamed  my  bower  was  full  of  red  swine, 
And  my  bride-bed  full  of  blood.' 

9.  '  Such  dreams,  such  dreams,  my  honoured  lord, 

They  never  do  prove  good, 
To  dream  thy  bower  was  full  of  swine, 
And  thy  bride-bed  full  of  blood.' 

10.  He  called  up  his  merry  men  all, 

By  one,  by  two,  and  by  three, 
Saying,  '  I'll  away  to  Fair  Margaret's  bower, 
By  the  leave  of  my  lady.' 

11.  And  when  he  came  to  Fair  Margaret's  bower, 

He  knocked  at  the  ring ; 
So  ready  was  her  seven  brethren 
To  let  Sweet  William  in. 

12.  He  turned  up  the  covering-sheet : 

'  Pray  let  me  see  the  dead  ; 
Methinks  she  does  look  pale  and  wan, 
She  has  lost  her  cherry  red. 

13.  'I'll  do  more  for  thee,  Margaret, 

Than  any  of  thy  kin  ; 
For  I  will  kiss  thy  pale  wan  lips, 
Tho  a  smile  I  cannot  win.' 


202  BALLADS. 

14.  With  that  bespeak  her  seven  brethren, 

Making  most  piteous  moan  : 
'  You  may  go  kiss  your  jolly  brown  bride, 
And  let  our  sister  alone.' 

15.  '  If  I  do  kiss  my  jolly  brown  bride, 

I  do  but  what  is  right ; 
For  I  made  no  vow  to  your  sister  dear, 
By  day  nor  yet  by  night. 

1 6.  '  Pray  tell  me  then  how  much  you'll  deal 

Of  your  white  bread  and  your  wine  ; 
So  much  as  is  dealt  at  her  funeral  today 
Tomorrow  shall  be  dealt  at  mine.' 

17.  Fair  Margaret  dy'd  today,  today, 

Sweet  William  he  dy'd  the  morrow ; 
Fair  Margaret  dy'd  for  pure  true  love, 
Sweet  William  he  dy'd  for  sorrow. 

1 8.  Margaret  was  buried  in  the  lower  chancel, 

Sweet  William  in  the  higher ; 
Out  of  her  breast  there  sprung  a  rose, 
And  out  of  his  a  brier. 

19.  They  grew  as  high  as  the  church-top, 

Till  they  could  grow  no  higher, 
And  then  they  grew  in  a  true  lover's  knot, 
Which  made  all  people  admire. 


BALLADS.  203 


SWEET    WILLIAM'S    GHOST. 

1.  Whan  bells  war  rung,  an  mass  was  sung, 

A  wat  a'  man  to  bed  were  gone, 
Clark  Sanders  came  to  Margret's  window, 
With  mony  a  sad  sigh  and  groan. 

2.  'Are  ye  sleeping,  Margret,'  he  says, 

'  Or  are  ye  waking,  presentlie  ? 
Give  me  my  faith  and  trouth  again, 
A  wat,  true-love,  I  gied  to  thee.' 

3.  '  Your  faith  and  trouth  ye  's  never  get, 

Nor  our  true  love  shall  never  twin, 
Till  ye  come  with  me  in  my  bower, 
And  kiss  me  both  cheek  and  chin.' 

4.  '  My  mouth  it  is  full  cold,  Margret, 

It  has  the  smell  now  of  the  ground  ; 
And  if  I  kiss  thy  comely  mouth, 
Thy  life-days  will  not  be  long. 

5.  '  Cocks  are  crowing  a  merry  mid-larf, 

I  wat  the  wild  fule  boded  day  ; 
Gie  me  my  faith  and  trouth  again, 
And  let  me  fare  me  on  my  way.' 

6.  '  Thy  faith  and  trouth  thou  shall  na  get, 

Nor  our  true  love  shall  never  twin, 

Till  ye  tell  me  what  comes  of  women 

Awat  that  dy's  in  strong  traveling.' 


204  BALLADS. 

7.  'Their  beds  are  made  in  the  heavens  high, 

Down  at  the  foot  of  our  good  Lord's  knee, 
Well  set  about  wi  gilly-flowers, 
A  wat  sweet  company  for  to  see. 

8.  '  O  cocks  are  crowing  a  merry  mid-larf, 

A  wat  the  wild  fule  boded  day  ; 
The  salms  of  Heaven  will  be  sung, 
And  ere  now  I  '11  be  missed  away.1 

9.  Up  she  has  taen  a  bright  long  wand, 

And  she  has  straked  her  trouth  thereon  ; 
She  has  given  it  him  out  at  the  shot-window, 
Wi  mony  a  sad  sigh  and  heavy  groan. 

10.  'I  thank  you,  Margret,  I  thank  you,  Margret, 

And  I  thank  you  heartilie  ; 
Gin  ever  the  dead  come  for  the  quick, 

Be  sure,  Margret,  I'll  come  again  for  thee.' 

11.  It's  hose  and  shoon  an  gound  alane 

She  clame  the  wall  and  followed  him, 
Until  she  came  to  a  green  forest, 
On  this  she  lost  the  sight  of  him. 

12.  'Is  there  any  room  at  your  head,  Sanders? 

Is  there  any  room  at  your  feet  ? 
Or  any  room  at  your  twa  sides  ? 
Where  fain,  fain  woud  I  sleep.' 

13.  '  There  is  nae  room  at  my  head,  Margret, 

There  is  nae  room  at  my  feet ; 
There  is  room  at  my  twa  sides, 
For  ladys  for  to  sleep. 


BALLADS.  205 


14.  'Cold  meal  is  my  covering  owre, 

But  an  my  winding  sheet : 
My  bed  it  is  full  low,  I  say, 
Among  hungry  worms  I  sleep. 

15.  'Cold  meal  is  my  covering  owre, 

But  an  my  winding  sheet  : 
The  dew  it  falls  nae  sooner  down 
Than  ay  it  is  full  weet.' 


206  BALLADS. 


EARL    BRAND. 

1.  Oh  did  ye  ever  hear  o  brave  Earl  Bran  ? 

Ay  lally,  o  lilly  lally. 

He  courted  the  king's  daughter  of  fair  England 
All  i  the  night  sae  early. 

2.  She  was  scarcely  fifteen  years  of  age 
Till  sae  boldly  she  came  to  his  bedside. 

3.  '  O  Earl  Bran,  fain  wad  I  see 

A  pack  of  hounds  let  loose  on  the  lea.' 

4.  '  O  lady,  I  have  no  steeds  but  one, 
And  thou  shalt  ride,  and  I  will  run.' 

5.  '  O  Earl  Bran,  my  father  has  two, 

And  thou  shall  have  the  best  o  them  a'. 

6.  They  have  ridden  oer  moss  and  moor, 
And  they  met  neither  rich  nor  poor. 

7.  Until  they  met  with  old  Carl  Hood  ; 
He  comes  for  ill,  but  never  for  good. 

8.  '  Earl  Bran,  if  ye  love  me, 

Seize  this  old  carl,  and  gar  him  die.' 

9.  'O  lady  fair,  it  wad  be  sair, 

To  slay  an  old  man  that  has  grey  hair. 

10.     'O  lady  fair,  I'll  no  do  sae, 

I'll  gie  him  a  pound  and  let  him  gae.' 


BALLADS.  207 

n.     'O  where  hae  ye  ridden  this  lee  lang  day? 
O  where  hae  ye  stolen  this  lady  away  ? ' 

12.  'I  have  not  ridden  this  lee  lang  day, 
Nor  yet  have  I  stolen  this  lady  away. 

13.  'She  is  my  only,  my  sick  sister, 
Whom  I  have  brought  from  Winchester.' 

14.  'If  she  be  sick,  and  like  to  dead, 
Why  wears  she  the  ribbon  sae  red  ? 

15.  'If  she  be  sick,  and  like  to  die, 

Then  why  wears  she  the  gold  on  high  ? ' 

1 6.  When  he  came  to  this  lady's  gate, 
Sae  rudely  as  he  rapped  at  it. 

17.  'O  where's  the  lady  o  this  ha? ' 

'  She's  out  with  her  maids  to  play  at  the  ba.' 

1 8.  '  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  ye  are  a'  mistaen  : 
Gae  count  your  maidens  oer  again.' 

19.  The  father  armed  fifteen  of  his  best  men, 
To  bring  his  daughter  back  again. 

20.  Oer  her  left  shoulder  the  lady  looked  then : 
'  O  Earl  Bran,  we  both  are  tane.' 

21.  'If  they  come  on  me  ane  by  ane, 

Ye  may  stand  by  and  see  them  slain. 

22.  '  But  if  they  come  on  me  one  and  all, 
Ye  may  stand  by  and  see  me  fall.' 


208  BALLADS. 

23.  They  have  come  on  him  ane  by  ane, 
And  he  has  killed  them  all  but  ane. 

24.  And  that  ane  came  behind  his  back, 
And  he's  gien  him  a  deadly  whack. 

25.  But  for  a'  sae  wounded  as  Earl  Bran  was, 
He  has  set  his  lady  on  her  horse. 

26.  They  rode  till  they  came  to  the  water  o  Doune, 
And  then  he  alighted  to  wash  his  wounds. 

27.  'O  Earl  Bran,  I  see  your  heart's  blood  ! ' 
'Tis  but  the  gleat  o  my  scarlet  hood.' 

28.  They  rode  till  they  came  to  his  mother's  gate, 
And  sae  rudely  as  he  rapped  at  it. 

29.  'O  my  son's  slain,  my  son's  put  down, 
And  a'  for  the  sake  of  an  English  loun.' 

30.  'O  say  not  sae,  my  dear  mother, 

But  marry  her  to  my  youngest  brother. 


31.     'This  has  not  been  the  death  o  ane, 
But  it's  been  that  o  fair  seventeen.' 


BALLADS.  209 


YOUNG    HUNTING. 

1.  'O  lady,  rock  never  your  young  son  young 

One  hour  longer  for  me, 
For  I  have  a  sweetheart  in  Garlick's  Wells 
I  love  thrice  better  than  thee. 

2.  '  The  very  soles  of  my  love's  feet 

Is  whiter  than  thy  face ' : 
'  But  nevertheless  na,  Young  Hunting, 
Ye  '11  stay  wi  me  all  night.' 

3.  She  has  birld  in  him  Young  Hunting 

The  good  ale  and  the  beer, 
Till  he  was  as  fou  drunken 
As  any  wild-wood  steer. 

4.  She  has  birld  in  him  Young  Hunting 

The  good  ale  and  the  wine, 
Till  he  was  as  fou  drunken 
As  any  wild-wood  swine. 

5.  And  she  has  minded  her  on  a  little  penknife, 

That  hangs  low  down  by  her  gare, 
And  she  has  gien  him  Young  Hunting 
A  deep  wound  and  a  sare. 

6.  Out  an  spake  the  bonny  bird, 

That  flew  aboon  her  head  : 
'  Lady,  keep  well  thy  green  clothing 
Fra  that  good  lord's  blood,' 


210  BALLADS. 

7.  '  O  better  I  '11  keep  my  green  clothing 

Fra  that  good  lord's  blood 
Nor  thou  can  keep  thy  flattering  tongue, 
That  flatters  in  thy  head. 

8.  '  Light  down,  light  down,  my  bonny  bird, 

Light  down  upon  my  hand, 
And  ye  shall  hae  a  cage  o  the  gowd 
Where  ye  hae  but  the  wand. 

9.  '  O  siller,  O  siller  shall  be  thy  hyre, 

And  goud  shall  be  thy  fee, 
And  every  month  into  the  year 
Thy  cage  shall  changed  be.' 

10.  'I  winna  light  down,  I  shanna  light  down, 

I  winna  light  on  thy  hand  ; 
For  soon,  soon  wad  ye  do  to  me 
As  ye  done  to  Young  Hunting" 

11.  She  has  booted  and  spurd  him  Young  Hunting 

As  he  had  been  gan  to  ride, 
A  hunting-horn  about  his  neck, 

And  the  sharp  sword  by  his  side ; 
And  she  has  had  him  to  yon  wan  water, 

For  a'  man  calls  it  Clyde. 

12.  The  deepest  pot  intill  it  a' 

She  has  puttin  Young  Hunting  in  ; 
A  green  turff  upon  his  breast, 
To  hold  that  good  lord  down. 

13.  It  fell  once  upon  a  day 

The  king  was  going  to  ride, 
And  he  sent  for  him  Young  Hunting, 
To  ride  on  his  right  side,- 


BALLADS  211 

14.  She  has  turnd  her  right  and  round  about, 

She  sware  now  by  the  corn  : 
'  I  saw  na  thy  son,  Young  Hunting, 
Sen  yesterday  at  morn.' 

15.  She  has  turnd  her  right  and  round  about, 

She  sware  now  by  the  moon  : 
'  I  saw  na  thy  son,  Young  Hunting, 
Sen  yesterday  at  noon. 

1 6.  'It  fears  me  sair  in  Clyde  Water 

That  he  is  drownd  therein ' : 
O  they  hae  sent  for  the  king's  duckers 
To  duck  for  Young  Hunting. 

17.  They  ducked  in  at  the  tae  water-bank, 

They  ducked  out  at  the  tither  : 
'  We  '11  duck  no  more  for  Young  Hunting 
Altho  he  were  our  brither.' 

1 8.  Out  an  spake  the  bonny  bird, 

That  flew  aboon  their  heads  : 
'  Dive  on,  dive  on,  ye  divers  all, 
For  there  he  lies  indeed. 

19.  '  O  he  is  na  drownd  in  Clyde  Water, 

He  is  slain  and  put  therein  ; 
The  lady  that  lives  in  yon  castle 
Slew  him  and  put  him  in. 

20.  '  Leave  off  your  ducking  on  the  day, 

And  duck  upon  the  night ; 
Where  ever  that  sakeless  knight  lyes  slain, 
The  candles  will  shine  bright.' 


212  BALLADS. 

2 1 .  They  left  off  their  ducking  on  the  day, 

And  duckd  upon  the  night, 
And  where  that  sakeless  knight  lay  slain, 
The  candles  shone  full  bright. 

22.  The  deepest  pot  intill  it  a' 

They  got  Young  Hunting  in  ; 
A  green  turff  upon  his  breast, 
To  hold  that  good  lord  down. 

23.  O  they  hae  sent  aff  men  to  the  wood 

To  hew  down  baith  thorn  and  fern, 
That  they  might  get  a  great  bonefire 

To  burn  that  lady  in. 
'  Put  na  the  wyte  on  me,'  she  says, 

'  It  was  her  May  Catheren.' 

24.  When  they  had  taen  her  May  Catheren, 

In  the  bonefire  set  her  in, 
It  wad  na  take  upon  her  cheeks, 

Nor  take  upon  her  chin, 
Nor  yet  upon  her  yallow  hair, 

To  heall  the  deadly  sin. 

25.  Out  they  hae  taen  her  May  Catheren, 

And  they  hae  put  that  lady  in  ; 
O  it  took  upon  her  cheek,,  her  cheek, 

And  it  took  upon  her  chin, 
And  it  took  on  her  fair  body, 

She  burnt  like  hoky-gren. 


BALLADS.  213 


FAIR  JANET. 

1 .  'Ye  maun  gang  to  your  father,  Janet, 

Ye  maun  gang  to  him  soon  ; 
Ye  maun  gang  to  your  father,  Janet, 
In  case  that  his  days  are  dune.' 

2.  Janet's  awa  to  her  father, 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie  : 
'  O  what 's  your  will  wi  me,  father  ? 
O  what 's  your  will  wi  me  ? ' 

3.  "  My  will  wi  you,  Fair  Janet,'  he  said, 

'  It  is  both  bed  and  board  ; 
Some  say  that  ye  loe  Sweet  Willie, 
But  ye  maun  wed  a  French  lord.' 

4.  'A  French  lord  maun  I  wed,  father? 

A  French  lord  maun  I  wed  ? 
Then,  by  my  sooth,'  quo  Fair  Janet, 
'  He  's  neer  enter  my  bed.' 

5.  Janet's  awa  to  her  chamber, 

As  fast  as  she  could  go  ; 
Wha  's  the  first  ane  that  tapped  there, 
But  Sweet  Willie  her  jo? 

6.  'O  we  maun  part  this  love,  Willie, 

That  has  been  lang  between  ; 
There  's  a  French  lord  coming  oer  the  sea, 

To  wed  me  wi  a  ring ; 
There  's  a  French  lord  coming  oer  the  sea, 

To  wed  and  tak  me  hame.' 


BALLADS. 

'  If  we  maun  part  this  love,  Janet, 

It  causeth  mickle  woe  ; 
If  we  maun  part  this  love,  Janet, 

It  makes  me  into  mourning  go.' 

'  But  ye  maun  gang  to  your  three  sisters, 

Meg,  Marion,  and  Jean  ; 
Tell  them  to  come  to  Fair  Janet, 

In  case  that  her  days  are  dune.' 

Willie  's  awa  to  his  three  sisters, 

Meg,  Marion,  and  Jean  : 
'O  haste,  and  gang  to  Fair  Janet, 

I  fear  that  her  days  are  dune.' 

Some  drew  to  them  their  silken  hose, 
Some  drew  to  them  their  shoon, 

Some  drew  to  them  their  silk  manteils, 
Their  coverings  to  put  on, 

And  they  're  awa  to  Fair  Janet, 
By  the  hie  light  o  the  moon. 


11.  '  O  I  have  born  this  babe,  Willie, 

Wi  mickle  toil  and  pain  ; 
Take  hame,  take  hame  your  babe,  Willie, 
For  nurse  I  dare  be  nane.' 

12.  He  's  tane  his  young  son  in  his  arms, 

And  kisst  him  cheek  and  chin, 
And  he  's  awa  to  his  mother's  bower, 
By  the  hie  light  o  the  moon. 


BALLADS.  215 

13.  'O  open,  open,  mother,'  he  says, 

'  O  open,  and  let  me  in  ; 
The  rain  rains  on  my  yellow  hair, 

And  the  dew  drops  o'er  my  chin, 
And  I  hae  my  young  son  in  my  arms, 

I  fear  that  his  days  are  dune.' 

14.  With  her  fingers  lang  and  sma 

She  lifted  up  the  pin, 
And  with  her  arms  lang  and  sma 
Received  the  baby  in. 

15.  'Gae  back,  gae  back  now,  Sweet  Willie, 

And  comfort  your  fair  lady ; 
For  where  ye  had  but  ae  nourice, 
Your  young  son  shall  hae  three.' 

1 6.  Willie  he  was  scarce  awa, 

And  the  lady  put  to  bed, 
When  in  and  came  her  father  dear : 
'  Make  haste,  and  busk  the  bride.' 

17.  '  There  's  a  sair  pain  in  my  head,  father, 

There  's  a  sair  pain  in  my  side  ; 
And  ill,  O  ill,  am  I,  father, 
This  day  for  to  be  a  bride.' 

1 8.  'O  ye  maun  busk  this  bonny  bride, 

And  put  a  gay  mantle  on  ; 
For  she  shall  wed  this  auld  French  lord, 
Gin  she  should  die  the  morn.' 

19.  Some  put  on  the  gay  green  robes, 

And  some  put  on  the  brown  ; 
But  Janet  put  on  the  scarlet  robes, 
To  shine  foremost  through  the  town. 


216  BALLADS. 

20.  And  some  they  mounted  the  black  steed, 

And  some  mounted  the  brown  ; 
But  Janet  mounted  the  milk-white  steed, 
To  ride  foremost  through  the  town. 

21.  'O  wha  will  guide  your  horse,  Janet? 

O  wha  will  guide  him  best  ? ' 
'  O  wha  but  Willie,  my  true  love  ? 
He  kens  I  loe  him  best.' 

22.  And  when  they  cam  to  Marie's  kirk, 

To  tye  the  haly  ban, 
Fair  Janet's  cheek  looked  pale  and  wan, 
And  her  colour  gaed  and  cam. 

23.  When  dinner  it  was  past  and  done, 

And  dancing  to  begin, 
'  O  we  '11  go  take  the  bride's  maidens, 
And  we  '11  go  fill  the  ring.' 

24.  O  ben  then  cam  the  auld  French  lord, 

Saying,  '  Bride,  will  ye  dance  with  me  ? ' 
'Awa,  awa,  ye  auld  French  Lord, 
Your  face  I  downa  see.' 

25.  O  ben  then  cam  now  Sweet  Willie, 

He  cam  with  ane  advance  : 
'  O  I  '11  go  tak  the  bride's  maidens, 
And  we  '11  go  tak  a  dance.' 

26.  'I  've  seen  ither  days  wi  you,  Willie, 

And  so  has  mony  mae, 
Ye  would  hae  danced  wi  me  mysel, 
Let  a'  my  maidens  gae.' 


BALLADS,  217 

27.  O  ben  then  cam  now  Sweet  Willie, 

Saying,  '  Bride,  will  ye  dance  wi  me  ? '         , 
'  Aye,  by  my  sooth,  and  that  I  will, 
Gin  my  back  should  break  in  three.' 

28.  She  hadna  turned  her  through  the  dance, 

Through  the  dance  but  thrice, 
When  she  fell  down  at  Willie's  feet, 
And  up  did  never  rise. 

29.  Willie  's  taen  the  key  of  his  coffer, 

And  gien  it  to  his  man  : 
'  Gae  hame,  and  tell  my  mother  dear 

My  horse  he  has  me  slain  ; 
Bid  her  be  kind  to  my  young  son, 

For  father  he  has  nane.' 

30.  The  tane  was  buried  in  Marie's  kirk, 

And  the  tither  in  Marie's  quire  ; 
Out  of  the  tane  there  grew  a  birk, 
And  the  tither  a  bonny  brier. 


218  BALLADS. 


LADY    MAISRY. 

1.  The  young  lords  o  the  north  country 

Have  all  a-wooing  gone, 
To  win  the  love  of  Lady  Maisry, 
But  o  them  she  woud  hae  none. 

2.  O  they  hae  courted  Lady  Maisry 

Wi'  a'  kin  kind  of  things  ; 
An  they  hae  sought  her  Lady  Maisry 
Wi'  brotches,  an  wi'  rings. 

3.  An  they  ha  sought  her  Lady  Maisry 

Frae  father  and  frae  mother  ; 
An  they  ha  sought  her  Lady  Maisry 
Frae  sister  and  frae  brother. 

4.  An  they  ha  followd  her  Lady  Maisry 

Thro  chamber  an  thro  ha  ; 
But  a'  that  they  coud  say  to  her, 
Her  answer  still  was  Na. 

5.  'O  had  your  tongues,  young  men,'  she  says, 

'  An  think  nae  mair  o  me  ; 
For  I  've  glen  my  love  to  an  English  lord, 
An  think  nae  mair  o  me.' 

6.  Her  father's  kitchy-boy  heard  that, 

An  ill  death  may  he  die  ! 

An  he  is  on  to  her  brother, 

As  fast  as  gang  coud  he. 


BALLADS.  219 

7.  'O  is  my  father  an  my  mother  well, 

But  an  my  brothers  three  ? 
Gin  my  sister  Lady  Maisry  be  well, 
There  's  naething  can  ail  me.' 

8.  '  Your  father  an  your  mother  is  well, 

But  an  your  brothers  three  ; 

Your  sister  Lady  Maisry  's  well, 

So  big  wi  bairn  gangs  she.' 

9.  '  Gin  this  be  true  you  tell  to  me, 

My  malison  light  on  thee  ! 
But  gin  it  be  a  lie  you  tell, 
You  sal  be  hangit  hie.' 

10.     He  's  done  him  to  his  sister's  bowr, 

Wi  meikle  doole  an  care  ; 
An  there  he  saw  her  Lady  Maisry 
Kembing  her  yallow  hair. 

n.     'O  wha  is  aught  that  bairn,'  he  says, 

'  That  ye  sae  big  are  wi  ? 
And  gin  ye  winna  own  the  truth, 
This  moment  ye  sail  dee.' 

12.  She  turnd  her  right  and  roun  about, 

And  the  kem  fell  frae  her  han  ; 
A  trembling  seizd  her  fair  body, 
An  her  rosy  cheek  grew  wan. 

13.  'O  pardon  me,  my  brother  dear, 

An  the  truth  I  '11  tell  to  thee  ; 
My  bairn  it  is  to  Lord  William, 
An  he  is  betrothd  to  me.' 


220  BALLADS. 

14.  'O  coudna  ye  gotten  dukes,  or  lords, 

Intill  your  ain  country, 
That  ye  draw  up  wi  an  English  dog, 
To  bring  this  shame  on  me  ? 

15.  '  But  ye  maun  gi  up  the  English  lord, 

Whan  your  young  babe  is  born ; 
For,  gin  you  keep  by  him  an  hour  langer, 
Your  life  sail  be  forlorn.' 

16.  '  I  will  gi  up  this  English  blood, 

Till  my  young  babe  be  born  ; 
But  the  never  a  day  nor  hour  langer, 
Tho  my  life  should  be  forlorn.' 

17.  'O  whare  is  a'  my  merry  young  men, 

Whom  I  gi  meat  and  fee, 
To  pu  the  thistle  and  the  thorn, 
To  burn  this  wile  whore  wi  ? ' 

18.  'O  whare  will  I  get  a  bonny  boy, 

To  help  me  in  my  need, 
To  rin  wi  hast  to  Lord  William, 
And  bid  him  come  wi  speed  ? ' 

19.  O  out  it  spake  a  bonny  boy, 

Stood  by  her  brother's  side  : 
'  O  I  would  run  your  errand,  lady, 
Oer  a'  the  world  wide. 

20.  'Aft  have  I  run  your  errands,  lady, 

Whan  blawn  baith  win  and  weet ; 
But  now  I  '11  rin  your  errand,  lady, 
Wi  sat  tears  on  my  cheek,' 


BALLADS.  221 

21.  O  whan  he  came  to  broken  briggs, 

He  bent  his  bow  and  swam, 
An  whan  he  came  to  the  green  grass  growin, 
He  slackd  his  shoon  and  ran. 

22.  O  whan  he  came  to  Lord  William's  gates, 

He  baed  na  to  chap  or  ca, 
But  set  his  bent  bow  till  his  breast, 

An  lightly  lap  the  wa ; 
An,  or  the  porter  was  at  the  gate, 

The  boy  was  i  the  ha. 

23.  'O  is  my  biggins  broken,  boy? 

Or  is  my  towers  won  ? 
Or  is  my  lady  lighter  yet, 
Of  a  dear  daughter  or  son  ? ' 

24.  'Your  biggin  is  na  broken,  sir, 

Nor  is  your  towers  won  ; 
But  the  fairest  lady  in  a'  the  Ian 
For  you  this  day  maun  burn.' 

25.  'O  saddle  me  the  black,  the  black, 

Or  saddle  me  the  brown  ; 
O  saddle  me  the  swiftest  steed 
That  ever  rade  frae  a  town.' 

26.  Or  he  was  near  a  mile  awa, 

She  heard  his  wild  horse  sneeze  : 

• 

'  Mend  up  the  fire,  my  false  brother, 
It 's  na  come  to  my  knees.' 

27.  O  whan  he  lighted  at  the  gate, 

She  heard  his  bridle  ring : 
'  Mend  up  the  fire,  my  false  brother, 
It 's  far  yet  frae  my  chin. 


222  BALLADS. 

• 

28.  '  Mend  up  the  fire  to  me,  brother, 

Mend  up  the  fire  to  me  ; 
For  I  see  him  comin  hard  an  fast, 
Will  soon  men't  up  to  thee. 

29.  'O  gin  my  hands  had  been  loose,  Willy, 

Sae  hard  as  they  are  boun, 
I  would  have  turnd  me  frae  the  gleed, 
And  castin  out  your  young  son.' 

30.  'O  I  '11  gar  burn  for  you,  Maisry, 

Your  father  an  your  mother ; 
And  I  '11  gar  burn  for  you,  Maisry, 
Your  sister  an  your  brother. 

31.  'An  I  '11  gar  burn  for  you,  Maisry, 

The  chief  of  a'  your  kin  ; 
And  the  last  bonfire  that  I  come  to, 
Mysel  I  will  cast  in.' 


BALLADS.  223 


THE   LASS    OF    ROCH    ROYAL. 

1.  'O  wha  will  shoe  my  fu  fair  foot? 

And  wha  will  glove  my  hand  ? 
And  wha  will  lace  my  middle  jimp 
Wi  the  new  made  London  band  ? 

2.  'And  wha  will  kaim  my  yellow  hair 

Wi  the  new  made  silver  kaim  ? 

And  wha  will  father  my  young  son, 

Till  Love  Gregor  come  hame  ? ' 

3.  'Your  father  will  shoe  your  fu  fair  foot, 

Your  mother  will  glove  your  hand  ; 
Your  sister  will  lace  your  middle  jimp 
Wi  the  new  made  London  band. 

4.  '  Your  brother  will  kaim  your  yellow  hair, 

Wi  the  new  made  silver  kaim  ; 
And  the  King  of  Heaven  will  father  your  bairn, 
Till  Love  Gregor  come  hame.' 

5.  '  But  I  will  get  a  bonny  boat, 

And  I  will  sail  the  sea, 
For  I  maun  gang  to  Love  Gregor, 
Since  he  canno  come  hame  to  me.' 

6.  O  she  has  gotten  a  bonny  boat, 

And  sailld  the  sa't  sea  fame  ; 
She  langd  to  see  her  ain  true-love, 
Since  he  could  no  come  hame. 


224  BALLADS. 

7.  'O  row  your  boat,  my  mariners, 

And  bring  me  to  the  land, 
For  yonder  I  see  my  love's  castle, 
Close  by  the  sa't  sea  strand.' 

8.  She  has  taen  her  young  son  in  her  arms, 

And  to  the  door  she  's  gone, 
And  lang  she  's  knocked  and  sair  she  ca'd, 
But  answer  got  she  none. 

9.  'O  open  the  door,  Love  Gregor,'  she  says, 

'O  open  and  let  me  in ; 
For  the  wind  blows  thro  my  yellow  hair, 
And  the  rain  draps  oer  my  chin.' 

10.  'Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman, 

You  'r  nae  come  here  for  good  ; 
You'r  but  some  witch  or  wile  warlock, 
Or  mermaid  of  the  flood.' 

11.  'I  am  neither  a  witch  nor  a  wile  warlock, 

Nor  mermaid  of  the  sea, 
I  am  Fair  Annie  of  Rough  Royal ; 
O  open  the  door  to  me.' 

12.  'Gin  ye  be  Annie  of  Rough  Royal  — 

And  I  trust  ye  are  not  she  — 
Now  tell  me  some  of  the  love-tokens 
That  past  between  you  and  me.' 

13.  'O  dinna  ye  mind  now,  Love  Gregor, 

When  we  sat  at  the  wine, 
How  we  changed  the  rings  frae  our  fingers  ? 
And  I  can  show  thee  thine. 


BALLADS.  225 

14.  '  O  yours  was  good,  and  good  enneugh, 

But  ay  the  best  was  mine  ; 
For  yours  was  o  the  good  red  goud, 
But  mine  o  the  diamonds  fine. 

15.  '  But  open  the  door  now,  Love  Gregor, 

O  open  the  door  I  pray, 
For  your  young  son  that 's  in  my  arms, 
Will  be  dead  ere  it  be  day.' 

1 6.  'Awa,  awa,  ye  ill  woman, 

For  here  ye  shanno  win  in  ; 

Gae  drown  ye  in  the  raging  sea, 

Or  hang  on  the  gallows-pin.' 

17.  When  the  cock  had  crawn,  and  day  did  dawn. 

And  the  sun  began  to  peep, 

Then  it  raise  him  Love  Gregor, 

And  sair  sair  did  he  weep. 

18.  'O  I  dreamd  a  dream,  my  mother  dear, 

The  thoughts  o  it  gars  me  greet, 
That  Fair  Annie  of  Rough  Royal 
Lay  cauld  dead  at  my  feet.' 

19.  'Gin  it  be  for  Annie  of  Rough  Royal 

That  ye  mak  a'  this  din, 
She  stood  a'  last  night  at  this  door, 
But  I  trow  she  wan  no  in.' 

20.  'O  wae  betide  ye,  ill  woman, 

An  ill  dead  may  ye  die  ! 
That  ye  woud  no  open  the  door  to  her, 
Nor  yet  woud  waken  me.' 


226  BALLADS. 

21.  O  he  has  gone  down  to  yon  shore-side, 

As  fast  as  he  could  fare  ; 
He  saw  Fair  Annie  in  her  boat, 
But  the  wind  it  tossed  her  sair. 

22.  And  '  Hey,  Annie  ! '  and  '  How,  Annie  ! 

O  Annie,  winna  ye  bide  ? ' 
But  ay  the  mair  that  he  cried  Annie, 
The  braider  grew  the  tide. 

23.  And  '  Hey,  Annie  ! '  and  '  How,  Annie  ! 

Dear  Annie,  speak  to  me  ! ' 
But  ay  the  louder  he  cried  Annie, 
The  louder  roared  the  sea. 

24.  The  wind  blew  loud,  the  sea  grew  rough. 

And  dashd  the  boat  on  shore ; 
Fair  Annie  floats  on  the  raging  sea, 
But  her  young  son  raise  no  more. 

25.  Love  Gregor  tare  his  yellow  hair, 

And  made  a  heavy  moan  ; 
Fair  Annie's  corpse  lay  at  his  feet, 
But  her  bonny  young  son  was  gone. 

26.  O  cherry,  cherry  was  her  cheek, 

And  gowden  was  her  hair, 
But  clay  cold  were  her  rosey  lips, 
Nae  spark  of  life  was  there. 

27.  And  first  he's  kissed  her  cherry  cheek, 

And  neist  he's  kissed  her  chin  ; 
And  saftly  pressed  her  rosey  lips, 
But  there  was  nae  breath  within. 


BALLADS.  227 

28.     'O  wae  betide  my  cruel  mother, 
And  an  ill  dead  may  she  die  ! 
For  she  turnd  my  true-love  frae  my  door, 
When  she  came  sae  far  to  me.' 


228  BALLADS. 


WILLIE   AND   LADY   MAISRY. 

1.  Willie  was  a  widow's  son, 

And  he  wore  a  milk-white  weed,  O  ; 
And  weel  could  Willie  read  and  write, 
Far  better  ride  on  steed,  O. 

2.  Lady  Maisry  was  the  first  lady 

That  drank  to  him  the  wine, 
And  aye  as  the  healths  gade  round  and  round, 
'  Laddy,  your  love  is  mine.' 

3.  Lady  Maisry  was  the  first  ladye 

That  drank  to  him  the  beer, 
And  aye  as  the  healths  gade  round  and  round, 
'  Laddy,  you're  welcome  here. 

4.  '  You  must  come  into  my  bower 

When  the  evening  bells  do  ring, 
And  you  must  come  into  my  bower 
When  the  evening  mass  doth  sing.' 

5.  He  's  taen  four  and  twenty  braid  arrows, 

And  laced  them  in  a  whang, 
And  he  's  awa  to  Lady  Maisry's  bower 
As  fast  as  he  can  gang. 

6.  He  set  ae  foot  on  the  wall, 

And  the  other  on  a  stane, 
And  he's  killed  a'  the  king's  life-guards, 
And  he's  killed  them  every  man. 


BALLADS.  229 

7.  '  Oh  open,  open,  Lady  Maisry, 

Open  and  let  me  in ; 
The  weet  weets  a'  my  yellow  hair, 
And  the  dew  draps  on  my  chin.' 

8.  With  her  feet  as  white  as  sleet, 

She  strode  her  bower  within, 
And  with  her  fingers  long  and  small 
She 's  looten  Sweet  Willie  in. 

9.  She 's  louten  down  unto  her  foot 

To  loose  Sweet  Willie's  shoon  ; 
The  buckles  were  sa  stiff  they  wodna  lowse, 
The  blood  had  frozen  in. 

10.  '  O  Willie,  Willie,  I  fear  that  thou 

Has  bred  me  dule  and  sorrow ; 
The  deed  that  thou  has  dune  this  nicht 
Will  kythe  upon  the  morrow.' 

11.  In  then  came  her  father  dear, 

And  a  broad  sword  by  his  gare, 
And  he' s  gien  Willie,  the  widow's  son, 
A  deep  wound  and  a  sair. 

12.  'Lye  yont,  lye  yont,  Willie,'  she  says, 

'  Your  sweat  weets  a'  my  side  ; 

Lye  yont,  lye  yont,  Willie,'  she  says, 

'  For  your  sweat  I  downa  bide.' 

13.  She  turned  her  back  unto  the  wa, 

Her  face  unto  the  room, 
And  there  she  saw  her  auld  father, 
Walking  up  and  down. 


230  BALLADS. 

14.  'Woe  be  to  you,  father,'  she  said, 

'  And  an  ill  deed  may  you  die ! 
For  ye  Ve  killed  Willie,  the  widow's  son, 
And  he  would  have  married  me.' 

15.  She  turned  her  back  unto  the  room, 

Her  face  unto  the  wa, 
And  with  a  deep  and  heavy  sich 
Her  heart  it  brak  in  twa. 


BALLADS.  231 


LORD   THOMAS    AND    FAIR   ANNET. 

1.  Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet 

Sate  a'  day  on  a  hill ; 
Whan  night  was  cum,  and  sun  was  sett, 
They  had  not  talkt  their  fill. 

2.  Lord  Thomas  said  a  word  in  jest, 

Fair  Annet  took  it  ill  : 
'A,  I  will  nevir  wed  a  wife 
Against  my  ain  friends'  will.' 

3.  'Gif  ye  wull  nevir  wed  a  wife, 

A  wife  wull  neir  wed  yee: ' 
Sae  he  is  hame  to  tell  his  mither, 
And  knelt  upon  his  knee. 

4.  'O  rede,  O  rede,  mither,'  he  says, 

'A  gude  rede  gie  to  mee  : 
O  sail  I  tak  the  nut-browne  bride, 
And  let  Faire  Annet  bee?' 

5.  'The  nut-browne  bride  haes  gowd  and  gear, 

Fair  Annet  she  has  gat  nane ; 
And  the  little  beauty  Fair  Annet  haes, 
O  it  wull  soon  be  gane.' 

6.  And  he  has  till  his  brother  gane  : 

'  Now,  brother,  rede  ye  mee  ; 
A,  sail  I  marrie  the  nut-browne  bride, 
And  let  Fair  Annet  bee?' 


232  BALLADS. 

7.  'The  nut-browne  bride  has  oxen,  brother, 

The  nut-browne  bride  has  kye  : 
I  wad  hae  ye  marrie  the  nut-browne  bride, 
And  cast  Fair  Annet  bye.' 

8.  '  Her  oxen  may  dye  i  the  house,  billie, 

And  her  kye  into  the  byre, 
And  I  sail  hae  nothing  to  mysell, 
Bot  a  fat  fadge  by  the  fyre.' 

9.  And  he  has  till  his  sister  gane  : 

'  Now  sister,  rede  ye  mee  ; 
O  sail  I  marrie  the  nut-browne  bride, 
And  set  Fair  Annet  free?' 

10.  'I  'se  rede  ye  tak  Fair  Annet,  Thomas, 

And  let  the  browne  bride  alane ; 

Lest  ye  sould  sigh,  and  say,  Alace, 

What  is  this  we  brought  hame  ! ' 

11.  '  No,  I  will  tak  my  mither's  counsel, 

And  marrie  me  owt  o  hand  ; 
And  I  will  tak  the  nut-browne  bride  ; 
Fair  Annet  may  leive  the  land.' 

12.  Up  then  rose  Fair  Annet's  father, 

Twa  hours  or  it  wer  day, 

And  he  is  gane  into  the  bower 

Wherein  Fair  Annet  lay. 

13.  '  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Fair  Annet,'  he  says, 

'  Put  on  your  silken  sheene  ; 
Let  us  gae  to  St.  Marie's  kirke, 
And  see  that  rich  weddeen.' 


BALLADS.  233 

14.  '  My  maides,  gae  to  my  dressing-roome, 

And  dress  to  me  my  hair ; 

Whaireir  yee  laid  a  plait  before, 

See  yee  lay  ten  times  mair. 

15.  '  My  maides,  gae  to  my  dressing-room, 

And  dress  to  me  my  smock ; 
The  one  half  is  o  the  holland  fine, 
The  other  o  needle- work.' 

1 6.  The  horse  Fair  Annet  rade  upon, 

He  amblit  like  the  wind ; 

Wi  siller  he  was  shod  before, 

Wi  burning  gowd  behind. 

17.  Four  and  twanty  siller  bells 

Wer  a'  tyed  till  his  mane, 
And  yae  tift  o  the  norland  wind, 
They  tinkled  ane  by  ane. 

1 8.  Four  and  twanty  gay  gude  knichts 

Rade  by  Fair  Annet's  side, 

And  four  and  twanty  fair  ladies, 

As  gin  she  had  bin  a  bride. 

19.  And  whan  she  cam  to  Marie's  kirk, 

She  sat  on  Marie's  stean  : 
The  cleading  that  Fair  Annet  had  on 
It  skinkled  in  their  een. 

20.  And  whan  she  cam  into  the  kirk, 

She  shimmered  like  the  sun  ; 
The  belt  that  was  about  her  waist, 
Was  a'  wi  pearles  bedone. 


BALLADS. 

2 1 .  She  sat  her  by  the  nut-browne  bride, 

And  her  een  they  wer  sae  clear, 
Lord  Thomas  he  clean  forgat  the  bride, 
Whan  Fair  Annet  drew  near. 

22.  He  had  a  rose  into  his  hand, 

He  gae  it  kisses  three, 
And  reaching  by  the  nut-browne  bride, 
Laid  it  on  Fair  Annet's  knee. 

23.  Up  than  spak  the  nut-browne  bride, 

She  spak  wi  meikle  spite  : 
'  And  whair  gat  ye  that  rose-water, 
That  does  mak  yee  sae  white  ? ' 

24.  'O  I  did  get  the  rose-water 

Whair  ye  wull  neir  get  nane, 
For  I  did  get  that  very  rose-water 
Into  my  mither's  wame.' 

25.  The  bride  she  drew  a  long  bodkin 

Frae  out  her  gay  head-gear, 
And  strake  Fair  Annet  unto  the  heart, 
That  word  spak  nevir  mair. 

26.  Lord  Thomas  he  saw  Fair  Annet  wex  pale, 

And  marvelit  what  mote  bee  ; 
But  whan  he  saw  her  dear  heart's  blude, 
A'  wood-wroth  wexed  hee. 

27.  He  drew  his  dagger,  that  was  sae  sharp, 

That  was  sae  sharp  and  meet, 
And  drave  it  into  the  nut-browne  bride, 
That  fell  deid  at  his  feit. 


BALLADS.  235 

28.  '  Now  stay  for  me,  dear  Annet,'  he  sed, 

'  Now  stay,  my  dear,'  he  cry'd ; 
Then  strake  the  dagger  untill  his  heart, 
And  fell  deid  by  her  side. 

29.  Lord  Thomas  was  buried  without  kirk-wa, 

Fair  Annet  within  the  quiere  ; 
And  o  the  tane  thair  grew  a  birk, 
The  other  a  bonny  briere. 

30.  And  ay  they  grew,  and  ay  they  threw, 

As  they  wad  faine  be  neare  ; 
And  by  this  ye  may  ken  right  weil 
They  were  twa  luvers  deare. 


236  BALLADS. 


FAIR    MARY    OF    LIVINGSTON. 

1 .  '  When  we  were  sisters  seven, 

And  five  of  us  dyed  wi  child, 
And  there  is  nane  but  you  and  I,  Mazery, 
And  we  '11  go  maidens  mild.' 

2.  But  there  came  knights,  and  there  came  squires, 

An  knights  of  high  degree  ; 
She  pleasd  hersel  in  Levieston, 
Thay  wear  a  comly  twa. 

3.  He  has  bought  her  rings  for  her  fingers, 

And  garlands  for  her  hair, 
The  broochis  till  her  bosome  braid  ; 

What  wad  my  love  ha  mair  ? 
And  he  has  brought  her  on  to  Livingston, 

And  made  her  lady  thear. 

4.  She  had  na  been  in  Livingston 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
Till  she  was  as  big  wi  bairn 
As  any  lady  could  gae. 

5.  'O  whare  will  I  get  a  bonny  boy, 

That  will  win  both  hoos  and  shoon, 
That  will  win  his  way  to  Little  Snoddown, 
To  my  mother,  the  Queen  ? ' 

6.  Up  and  stands  a  bonny  boy, 

Goude  yellow  was  his  hair ; 
I  wish  his  mother  mickle  grace  at  him, 
And  his  trew-love  mickle  mare. 


BALLADS.  237 

7.  'Here  am  I  a  bonny  boy. 

That  will  win  baith  hose  an  shoon, 
That  will  win  my  way  to  Little  Snoddown, 
To  thy  mother,  the  Queen.' 

8.  '  Here  is  the  rings  frae  my  fingers, 

The  garlands  frae  my  hair, 
The  broches  frae  my  bosom  braid  ; 
Fray  me  she  '11  nere  get  mare. 

9.  '  Here  it  is  my  weeding- goun, 

It  is  a'  goude  but  the  hem  ; 
Gi  it  to  my  sister  Allen, 

For  she  is  left  now  bird  her  lane. 


10.  'When  you  come  where  brigs  is  broken, 

Ye  '1  bent  your  bow  and  swim  ; 
An  when  ye  come  whare  green  grass  grows, 
Ye  '1  slack  your  shoon  and  run. 

11.  '  But  when  you  come  to  yon  castle, 

Bide  neither  to  chap  nor  ca, 
But  you  '1  set  your  bent  bow  to  your  breast, 

And  lightly  loup  the  wa, 
And  gin  the  porter  be  half-gate, 

Ye  '11  be  ben  throw  the  ha.' 


O  when  he  came  where  brigs  was  broken, 

He  bent  his  bow  and  swam  ; 
And  when  he  came  where  green  grass  grows, 
1     He  slackd  his  shoon  an  ran. 


238  BALLADS. 

13.  And  when  he  came  to  yon  castel, 

He  stayed  neither  to  chap  no  ca'l, 
But  bent  his  bow  unto  his  breast, 

And  lightly  lap  the  wa'l ; 
And  gin  the  porter  was  hafe-gate, 

He  was  ben  throw  the  ha'l. 

14.  '  O  peace  be  to  you,  ladies  a'l ! 

As  ye  sit  at  your  dine 
Ye  ha  little  word  of  Lady  Mazery, 
For  she  drees  mickel  pine. 

15.  '  Here  is  the  rings  frae  her  fingers, 

The  garlands  frae  her  hair, 
The  broches  frae  her  bosome  brade  ; 
Fray  her  ye  '1  nere  get  mare. 

1 6.  '  Here  it  is  her  weeding-goun, 

It  is  a'  goude  but  the  hem ; 
Ye  '11  gi  it  to  her  sister  Allen, 
For  she  is  left  bird  her  lane.' 

17.  She  ca'd  the  table  wi  her  foot, 

And  coped  it  wi  her  tae, 
Till  siller  cups  an  siller  cans 
Unto  the  floor  did  gae. 

1 8.  'Ye  wash,  ye  wash,  ye  bonny  boy, 

Ye  wash,  and  come  to  dine ; 
It  does  not  fit  a  bonny  boy 
His  errant  for  to  tine. 

19.  'Ge  saddle  to  me  the  black,  the  black, 

Ge  saddle  to  me  the  brown, 
Ge  saddle  to  me  the  swiftest  steed 
That  ever  rid  frae  a  town.' 


BALLADS.  239 

20.  The  first  steed  they  saddled  to  her, 

He  was  the  bonny  black ; 
He  was  a  good  steed,  and  a  very  good  steed, 
But  he  tiyrd  eer  he  wan  the  slack. 

21.  The  next  steed  they  saddled  to  her. 

He  was  the  bonny  brown  ; 
He  was  a  good  steed,  and  a  very  good  steed, 
But  he  tiyird  ere  he  wan  the  town. 

22.  The  next  steed  they  saddled  to  her, 

He  was  the  bonny  white  ; 
Fair  fa  the  mair  that  fo'd  the  fole 
That  carried  her  to  Mazeree's  lear  ! 

• 

23.  As  she  gaed  in  at  Leivingston, 

Thare  was  na  mickel  pride  ; 
The  scobs  was  in  her  lovely  mouth, 
And  the  razer  in  her  side. 

2^..     The  knight  he  knocked  his  white  fingers, 

The  goude  rings  flew  in  twa  : 
'  Halls  and  bowers  they  shall  go  wast 
Ere  my  bonny  love  gie  awa  ! ' 

25.  The  knight  he  knocked  his  white  fingers, 

The  goude  rings  flew  in  foure  : 
'  Halls  and  bowers  they  shall  go  waste, 
Ere  my  bonny  lady  gie  it  ore  ! ' 

26.  '  O  hold  your  toung  now,  Livingston, 

Let  all  your  folly  abee  ; 
I  bear  the  burden  in  my  breast, 
Mun  suffer  them  to  dee.' 


240  BALLADS. 

27.  Out  and  speaks  her  Bird  Allen, 

For  she  spake  ay  throilgh  pride : 
'  That  man  shall  near  be  born,'  she  says, 
'  Shall  ever  make  me  his  bride.' 

28.  '  O  hold  your  toung  now,  Bird  Allen, 

Let  all  your  folly  abee  ; 
For  you  shall  marry  a  man,'  she  says, 
'Tho  ye  shoud  live  but  rathes  three.' 


BALLADS.  241 


CHILD    WATERS. 

1.  Childe  Watters  in  his  stable  stoode, 

And  stroaket  his  milke-white  steede  ; 
To  him  came  a  ffaire  young  ladye 
As  ere  did  weare  womans  weede. 

2.  Saies,  'Christ  you  save,  good  Chyld  Waters  !' 

Sayes,  '  Christ  you  save  and  see  ! 
My  girdle  of  gold  which  was  too  longe 
Is  now  to  short  ffor  mee. 

3.  'And  all  is  with  one  chyld  of  yours, 

I  ffeele  sturre  att  my  side  : 
My  gowne  of  greene,  it  is  to  strayght ; 
Before  it  was  to  wide.' 

4.  '  If  the  child  be  mine,  faire  Ellen,'  he  sayd, 

'  Be  mine,  as  you  tell  mee, 
Take  you  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 
Take  them  your  owne  to  bee. 

5.  'If  the  child  be  mine,  ffaire  Ellen,'  he  said, 

'  Be  mine,  as  you  doe  sweare, 
Take  you  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 
And  make  that  child  your  heyre.' 

6.  Shee  saies,  '  I  had  rather  have  one  kisse, 

Child  Waters,  of  thy  mouth, 

Then  I  would  have  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 
That  lyes  by  north  and  south. 


242  BALLADS.  « 

7.  'And  I  had  rather  have  a  twinkling, 

Child  Waters,  of  your  eye, 

Then  I  would  have  Cheshire  and  Lancashire  both, 
To  take  them  mine  oune  to  bee  ! ' 

8.  '  To-morrow,  Ellen,  I  must  forth  ryde 

Soe  ffar  into  the  north  countrye  ; 
The  ffairest  lady  that  I  can  ffind, 

Ellen,  must  goe  with  mee.' 
'And  ever  I  pray  you,  Child  Watters, 

Your  ffootpage  let  me  bee  ! ' 

9.  '  If  you  will  my  ffootpage  be,  Ellen, 

As  you  doe  tell  itt  mee, 
Then  you  must  cut  your  gownne  of  greene 
An  inch  above  your  knee. 

10.  'Soe  must  you  doe  your  yellow  lockes 

Another  inch  above  your  eye ; 
You  must  tell  no  man  what  is  my  name  ; 
My  ffootpage  then  you  shall  bee.' 

11.  All  this  long  day  Child  Waters  rode, 

Shee  ran  bare  ffoote  by  his  side ; 
Yett  was  he  never  soe  curteous  a  knight, 
To  say,  '  Ellen  will  you  ryde  ? ' 

12.  But  all  this  day  Child  Waters  rode, 

She  ran  barffoote  thorow  the  broome  ; 
Yett  he  was  never  soe  curteous  a  knight 
As  to  say,  '  Put  on  your  shoone.' 

13.  '  Ride  softlye,'  shee  said,  '  Child  Watters  : 

Why  do  you  ryde  soe  ffast  ? 
The  child,  which  is  no  mans  but  yours, 
My  bodye  itt  will  burst.' 


BALLADS.  243 

14.  He  sayes,  'Sees  thou  yonder  water,  Ellen, 

That  fflowes  from  banke  to  brim  ? ' 
'  I  trust  to  God,  Child  Waters,'  shee  sayd, 
'You  will  never  see  mee  swime.' 

15.  But  when  shee  came  to  the  waters  side, 

Shee  sayled  to  the  chinne  : 
'  Except  the  lord  of  heaven  be  my  speed, 
Now  must  I  learne  to  swime.' 

1 6.  The  salt  waters  bare  up  Ellens  clothes, 

Our  Ladye  bare  upp  her  chinne, 
And  Child  Waters  was  a  woe  man,  good  Lord, 
To  ssee  faire  Ellen  swime. 

17.  And  when  shee  over  the  water  was, 

Shee  then  came  to  his  knee  : 
He  said,  'Come  hither,  ffaire  Ellen, 
Loe  yonder  what  I  see  ! 

1 8.  '  Seest  thou  not  yonder  hall,  Ellen  ? 

Of  redd  gold  shine  the  yates  ; 
There  's  four  and  twenty  ffayre  ladyes, 
The  ffairest  is  my  wordlye  make. 

19.  '  Seest  thou  not  yonder  hall,  Ellen  ? 

Of  redd  gold  shineth  the  tower  ; 
There  is  four  and  twenty  ffaire  ladyes, 
The  fairest  is  my  paramoure.' 

20.  'I  doe  see  the  hall  now,  Child  Waters, 

That  of  redd  gold  shineth  the  yates  ; 
God  give  good  then  of  your  selfe, 
And  of  your  wordlye  make  ! 


244  BALLADS. 

21.  'I  doe  see  the  hall  now,  Child  Waters, 

That  of  redd  gold  shineth  the  tower  ; 
God  give  good  then  of  your  selfe, 
And  of  your  paramoure  ! ' 

22.  There  were  four  and  twenty  ladyes, 

Were  playing  att  the  ball ; 
And  Ellen,  was  the  ffairest  ladye, 
Must  bring  his  steed  to  the  stall. 

23.  There  were  four  and  twenty  faire  ladyes 

Was  playing  att  the  chesse  ; 
And  Ellen,  shee  was  the  ffairest  ladye, 
Must  bring  his  horsse  to  grasse. 

24.  And  then  bespake  Child  Waters  sister, 

And  these  were  the  words  said  shee : 
'You  have  the  prettyest  ffootpage,  brother, 
That  ever  I  saw  with  mine  eye  ; 

25.  '  But  that  his  belly  it  is  soe  bigg, 

His  girdle  goes  wondrous  hye ; 
And  ever  I  pray  you,  Child  Waters, 
Let  him  go  into  the  chamber  with  me.' 

26.  '  It  is  more  meete  for  a  little  ffootpage, 

That  has  run  through  mosse  and  mire, 
To  take  his  supper  upon  his  knee 

And  sitt  downe  by  the  kitchin  fyer, 
Then  to  go  into  the  chamber  with  any  ladye 

That  weares  so  rich  attyre.' 

27.  'I  pray  you  now,  good  Child  Waters, 

That  I  may  creepe  in  att  your  bedds  feete, 
For  there  is  noe  place  about  this  house 
Where  I  may  say  a  sleepe.' 


BALLADS.  245 

28.  This  night  and  itt  drove  on  affterward 

Till  itt  was  neere  the  day : 
He  sayd,  '  Rise  up,  my  litle  ffoote  page, 

And  give  my  steed  corne  and  hay ; 
And  soe  doe  thou  the  good  blacke  oates, 

That  he  may  carry  me  the  better  away.' 

29.  And  up  then  rose  ffaire  Ellen, 

And  gave  his  steed  corne  and  hay,  . 
And  soe  shee  did  the  good  blacke  oates, 
That  he  might  carry  him  the  better  away. 

30.  Shee  layned  her  backe  to  the  manger  side, 

And  greivouslye  did  groane  ; 
And  that  beheard  his  mother  deere, 
And  heard  her  make  her  moane. 

31.  Shee  said,  'Rise  up,  thou  Child  Waters  ! 

I  thinke  thou  art  a  cursed  man  ; 
For  yonder  is  a  ghost  in  thy  stable, 

That  greivously  doth  groane, 
Or  else  some  woman  laboures  of  child, 

Shee  is  soe  woe  begone  ! ' 

32.  But  up  then  rose  Child  Waters, 

And  did  on  his  shirt  of  silke  ; 
Then  he  put  on  his  other  clothes 
On  his  body  as  white  as  milke. 

33.  And  when  he  came  to  the  stable  dore, 

Full  still  that  hee  did  stand, 
That  hee  might  heare  now  faire  Ellen, 
How  shee  made  her  monand. 


246  BALLADS. 

34.  Shee  said,  '  Lullabye,  my  owne  deere  child  ! 

Lullabye,  deere  child,  deere  ! 
I  wold  thy  father  were  a  king, 
Thy  mother  layd  on  a  beere  ! ' 

35.  'Peace  now,'  he  said,  'good  faire  Ellen  ! 

And  be  of  good  cheere,  I  thee  pray, 
And  the  bridall  and  the  churching  both, 
They  shall  bee  upon  one  day.' 


BALLADS.  247 


FAIR   ANNIE. 

1.  '  It 's  narrow,  narrow,  make  your  bed, 

And  learn  to  lie  your  lane ; 
For  I  'm  ga'n  oer  the  sea,  Fair  Annie, 

A  braw  bride  to  bring  hame. 
Wi  her  I  will  get  gowd  and  gear ; 

Wi  you  I  neer  got  nane. 

2.  '  But  wha  will  bake  my  bridal  bread, 

Or  brew  my  bridal  ale  ? 
And  wha  will  welcome  my  brisk  bride, 
That  I  bring  oer  the  dale  ? ' 

3.  '  It 's  I  will  bake  your  bridal  bread, 

And  brew  your  bridal  ale ; 
And  I  will  welcome  your  brisk  bride, 
That  you  bring  oer  the  dale.' 

4.  '  But  she  that  welcomes  my  brisk  bride 

Maun  gang  like  maiden  fair  ; 
She  maun  lace  on  her  robe  sae  jimp, 
And  braid  her  yellow  hair.' 

5.  '  But  how  can  I  gang  maiden-like, 

When  maiden  I  am  nane? 
Have  I  not  born  seven  sons  to  thee, 
And  am  with  child  again  ? ' 

6.  She  's  taen  her  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Another  in  her  hand, 
And  she  's  up  to  the  highest  tower, 
To  see  him  come  to  land. 


248  BALLADS. 

7.  '  Come  up,  come  up,  my  eldest  son, 

And  look  oer  yon  sea-strand, 
And  see  your  father's  new-come  bride, 
Before  she  come  to  land.' 

8.  '  Come  down,  come  down,  my  mother  dear, 

Come  frae  the  castle  wa ! 
I  fear,  if  langer  ye  stand  there, 
Ye  '11  let  yoursell  down  fa.' 

9.  And  she  gaed  down,  and  farther  down, 

Her  love's  ship  for  to  see, 
And  the  topmast  and  the  mainmast 
Shone  like  the  silver  free. 

10.  And  she  's  gane  down,  and  farther  down, 

The  bride's  ship  to  behold, 
And  the  topmast  and  the  mainmast 
They  shone  just  like  the  gold. 

1 1.  She  's  taen  her  seven  sons  in  her  hand, 

I  wot  she  didna  fail ; 
She  met  Lord  Thomas  and  his  bride', 
As  they  came  oer  the  dale. 

12.  'You're  welcome  to  your  house,  Lord  Thomas, 

You  're  welcome  to  your  land  ; 
You  're  welcome  with  your  fair  ladye, 
That  you  lead  by  the  hand. 

13.  '  You  're  welcome  to  your  ha's,  ladye, 

You  're  welcome  to  your  bowers  ; 
You  're  welcome  to  your  hame,  ladye, 
For  a'  that 's  here  is  yours.' 


BALLADS.  249 

14.  She  hang  ae  napkin  at  the  door, 

Another  in  the  ha, 
And  a'  to  wipe  the  trickling  tears, 
Sae  fast  as  they  did  fa. 

15.  And  aye  she  served  the  long  tables, 

With  white  bread  and  with  wine ; 
And  aye  she  drank  the  wan  water, 
To  had  her  colour  fine. 

1 6.  And  aye  she  served  the  lang  tables, 

With  white  bread  and  with  brown  , 
And  ay  she  turned  her  round  about, 
Sae  fast  the  tears  fell  down. 

17.  And  he  's  taen  down  the  silk  napkin, 

Hung  on  a  silver  pin, 
And  aye  he  wipes  the  tear  trickling 
A'  down  her  cheek  and  chin. 

1 8.  And  aye  he  turned  him  round  about, 

And  smil'd  amang  his  men  ; 
Says,  '  Like  ye  best  the  old  ladye, 
Or  her  that 's  new  come  hame? ' 

19.  When  bells  were  rung,  and  mass  was  sung, 

And  a'  men  bound  to  bed, 
Lord  Thomas  and  his  new-come  bride 
To  their  chamber  they  were  gaed. 

20.  Annie  made  her  bed  a  little  forbye, 

To  hear  what  they  might  say ; 

'And  ever  alas,'  Fair  Annie  cried, 

'  That  I  should  see  this  day ! 


250  BALLADS. 

21.  'Gin  my  seven  sons  were  seven  young  rats, 

Running  on  the  castle  wa, 
And  I  were  a  gray  cat  mysell, 
I  soon  would  worry  them  a'. 

22.  'Gin  my  seven  sons  were  seven  young  hares, 

Running  oer  yon  lilly  lee, 
And  I  were  a  grew  hound  mysell, 
Soon  worried  they  a'  should  be.' 

23.  And  wae  and  sad  Fair  Annie  sat, 

And  drearie  was  her  sang, 
And  ever,  as  she  sobbd  and  grat, 

'  Wae  to  the  man  that  did  the  wrang  ! ' 

24.  'My  gown  is  on,'  said  the  new-come  bride, 

'  My  shoes  are  on  my  feet, 
And  I  will  to  Fair  Annie's  chamber, 
And  see  what  gars  her  greet. 

25.  '  What  ails  ye,  what  ails  ye,  Fair  Annie, 

That  ye  make  sic  a  moan  ? 
Has  your  wine  barrels  cast  the  girds, 
Or  is  your  white  bread  gone  ? 

26.  '  O  wha  was  't  was  your  father,  Annie, 

Or  wha  was  't  was  your  mother? 
And  had  ye  ony  sister,  Annie, 
Or  had  ye  ony  brother?' 

27.  'The  Earl  of  Wemyss  was  my  father, 

The  Countess  of  Wemyss  my  mother ; 
And  a'  the  folk  about  the  house 
To  me  were  sister  and  brother.' 


BALLADS.  251 

28.  '  If  the  Earl  of  Wemyss  was  your  father, 

1  wot  sae  was  he  mine ; 
And  it  shall  not  be  for  lack  o  gowd 
That  ye  your  love  sail  tyne. 

29.  '  For  I  have  seven  ships  o  mine  ain, 

A'  loaded  to  the  brim, 
And  I  will  gie  them  a'  to  thee, 

Wi'  four  to  thine  eldest  son  : 
But  thanks  to  a'  the  powers  in  heaven 

That  I  gae  maiden  hame ! ' 


252  BALLADS. 


WILLIE'S    LADY. 

1.  Willie  has  taen  him  oer  the  fame, 

He 's  woo'd  a  wife  and  brought  her  hame. 

2.  He  's  woo'd  her  for  her  yellow  hair, 
But  his  mother  wrought  her  mickle  care, 

3.  And  mickle  dolour  gard  her  dree, 
For  lighter  she  can  never  be. 

4.  But  in  her  bower  she  sits  wi  pain, 
And  Willie  mourns  oer  her  in  vain. 

5.  And  to  his  mother  he  has  gone, 
That  Vile  rank  witch  of  vilest  kind. 

6.  He  says  :  '  My  ladie  has  a  cup 
Wi  gowd  and  silver  set  about. 

7.  '  This  goodlie  gift  shall  be  your  ain, 
And  let  her  be  lighter  o  her  young  bairn.' 

8.  '  Of  her  young  bairn  she  '11  neer  be  lighter, 
Nor  in  her  bower  to  shine  the  brighter. 

9.  '  But  she  shall  die  and  turn  to  clay, 
And  you  shall  wed  another  may.' 

10.     'Another  may  I  '11  never  wed, 

Another  may  I  '11  neer  bring  hame.' 

u.     But  sighing  says  that  weary  wight, 
'  I  wish  my  life  were  at  an  end.' 


BALLADS.  253 

12.  'Ye  doe  ye  unto  your  mother  again, 
That  vile  rank  witch  of  vilest  kind. 

13.  'And  say  your  ladie  has  a  steed, 

The  like  o  'm  's  no  in  the  lands  of  Leed. 

14.  '  For  he  is  golden  shod  before, 
And  he  is  golden  shod  behind. 

15.  'And  at  ilka  tet  of  that  horse's  main 
There 's  a  golden  chess  and  a  bell  ringing. 

1 6.  'This  goodlie  gift  shall  be  your  ain, 
And  let  me  be  lighter  of  my  young  bairn.' 

17.  'O  her  young  bairn  she  '11  neer  be  lighter, 
Nor  in  her  bower  to  shine  the  brighter. 

1 8.  'But  she  shall  die  and  turn  to  clay, 
And  ye  shall  wed  another  may.' 

19.  '  Another  may  I  '11  never  wed, 
Another  may  I  '11  neer  bring  name.' 

20.  But  sighing  said  that  weary  wight, 
'  I  wish  my  life  were  at  an  end.' 

21.  'Ye  doe  ye  unto  your  mother  again, 
That  vile  rank  witch  of  vilest  kind. 

22.  'And  say  your  ladie  has  a  girdle, 
It 's  red  gowd  unto  the  middle. 

23.  'And  ay  at  every  silver  hem 
Hangs  fifty  silver  bells  and  ten. 


254  BALLADS. 

24.  '  That  goodlie  gift  shall  be  her  ain, 

And  let  me  be  lighter  of  my  young  bairn.' 

25.  'O  her  young  bairn  she  's  neer  be  lighter, 
Nor  in  her  bower  to  shine  the  brighter. 

26.  'But  she  shall  die  and  turn  to  clay, 
And  you  shall  wed  another  may.' 

27.  'Another  may  I  '11  never  wed, 
Another  may  I  '11  neer  bring  hame.' 

28.  But  sighing  says  that  weary  wight, 
'  I  wish  my  life  were  at  an  end.' 

29.  Then  out  an  spake  the  Billy  Blin, 
He  spake  aye  in  good  time. 

30.  'Ye  doe  ye  to  the  market-place, 
And  there  ye  buy  a  loaf  of  wax. 

31.  'Ye  shape  it  bairn  and  bairnly  like, 
And  in  twa  glassen  een  ye  pit ; 

32.  'And  bid  her  come  to  your  boy's  christening  ; 
Then  notice  weel  what  she  shall  do. 

33.  'And  do  you  stand  a  little  forebye, 
And  listen  weel  what  she  shall  say.' 

34.  'O  wha  has  loosed  the  nine  witch  knots 
That  was  amo  that  ladie's  locks  ? 

35.  'And  wha  has  taen  out  the  kaims  o  care 
That  hangs  amo  that  ladie's  hair  ? 


BALLADS.  255 

36.  '  And  wha  's  taen  down  the  bush  o  woodbine 
That  hang  atween  her  bower  and  mine  ? 

37.  'And  wha  has  killd  the  master  kid 
That  ran  beneath  that  ladie's  bed  ? 

38.  '  And  wha  has  loosed  her  left-foot  shee, 
And  lotten  that  lady  lighter  be  ? ' 

39.  O  Willie  has  loosed  the  nine  witch  knots 
That  was  amo  that  ladie's  locks. 

40.  And  Willie's  taen  out  the  kaims  o  care 
That  hang  amo  that  ladie's  hair. 

41.  And  Willie's  taen  down  the  bush  o  woodbine 
That  hang  atween  her  bower  and  thine. 

42.  And  Willie  has  killed  the  master  kid 
That  ran  beneath  that  ladie's  bed. 

43.  And  Willie  has  loosed  her  left-foot  shee, 
And  letten  his  ladie  lighter  be. 

44.  And  now  he  's  gotten  a  bonny  young  son, 
And  mickle  grace  be  him  upon. 


256  BALLADS. 


YOUNG    BEICHAN. 

1.  In  London  city  was  Beichan  born, 

He  longd  strange  countries  for  to  see, 
But  he  was  taen  by  a  savage  Moor, 
Who  handld  him  right  cruely. 

2.  For  thro  his  shoulder  he  put  a  bore, 

An  thro  the  bore  has  pitten  a  tree, 
An  he  's  gard  him  draw  the  carts  o  wine, 
Wheje  horse  and  oxen  had  wont  to  be. 

3.  He  's  casten  him  in  a  dungeon  deep, 

Where  he  coud  neither  hear  nor  see ; 
He  's  shut  him  up  in  a  prison  strong, 
An  he 's  handld  him  right  cruely. 

4.  The  savage  Moor  had  but  ae  dochter, 

And  her  name  it  was  Susie  Pye, 
And  ilka  day  as  she  took  the  air, 
The  prison  door  she  passed  bye. 

5.  But  it  fell  ance  upon  a  day, 

As  she  was  walking,  she  heard  him  sing ; 
She  listend  to  his  tale  of  woe, 
A  happy  day  for  young  Beichan  ! 

6.  '  My  hounds  they  all  go  masterless, 

My  hawks  they  flee  frae  tree  to  tree, 
My  youngest  brother  will  heir  my  lands, 
My  native  land  I  '11  never  see.' 


BALLADS.  257 

7.  'O  were  I  but  the  prison-keeper, 

As  I  'm  a  ladie  o  hie  degree, 
I  soon  wad  set  this  youth  at  large, 
And  send  him  to  his  ain  countrie.' 

8.  She  went  away  into  her  chamber, 

All  nicht  she  never  closd  her  ee ; 
And  when  the  morning  begoud  to  dawn, 
At  the  prison  door  alane  was  she. 

9.  'O  hae  ye  ony  lands  or  rents, 

Or  citys  in  your  ain  country, 
Coud  free  you  out  of  prison  strong, 
An  coud  mantain  a  lady  free  ? ' 

10.  'O  London  city  is  my  own, 

An  other  citys  twa  or  three, 
Coud  loose  me  out  o  prison  strong, 
An  coud  mantain  a  lady  free.' 

11.  O  she  has  bribed  her  father's  men 

Wi  meikle  goud  and  white  money, 
She  's  gotten  the  key  o  the  prison  doors, 
And  she  has  set  young  Beichan  free. 

12.  She's  gi'n  him  a  loaf  o  good  white  bread, 

But  an  a  flask  o  Spanish  wine, 
An  she  bad  him  mind  on  the  ladie's  love 
That  sae  kindly  freed  him  out  o  pine. 

13.  'Go  set  your  foot  on  good  ship-board, 

An  haste  you  back  to  your  ain  country, 
An  before  that  seven  years  has  an  end, 
Come  back  again,  love,  and  marry  me.' 


258  BALLADS. 

14.  It  was  long  or  seven  years  had  an  end 

She  longd  fu  sair  her  love  to  see ; 
She  ?s  set  her  foot  on  good  ship-board, 
An  turnd  her  back  on  her  ain  country. 

15.  She  's  saild  up,  so  has  she  doun, 

Till  she  came  to  the  other  side ; 
She  's  landed  at  young  Beichan's  gates, 
An  I  hop  this  day  she  sal  be  his  bride. 

1 6.  'Is  this  young  Beichan's  gates? '  says  she, 

'  Or  is  that  noble  prince  within  ? ' 
'  He  's  up  the  stairs  wi  his  bonny  bride, 
An  monny  a  lord  and  lady  wi  him.' 

17.  'O  has  he  taen  a  bonny  bride, 

An  has  he  clean  forgotten  me  ! ' 
An  sighing  said  that  gay  lady, 

'  I  wish  I  were  in  my  ain  country  ! ' 

.18.     But  she  's  pitten  her  han  in  her  pocket, 

And  gin  the  porter  guineas  three  ; 
Says,  '  Take  ye  that,  ye  proud  porter, 
An  bid  the  bridegroom  speak  to  me.' 

19.  O  whan  the  porter  came  up  the  stair, 

He  's  fa'n  low  down  upon  his  knee  ; 
'  Won  up,  won  up,  ye  proud  porter, 
An  what  makes  a'  this  courtesy  ? ' 

20.  '  O  I  've  been  porter  at  your  gates 

This  mair  nor  seven  years  an  three, 
But  there  is  a  lady  at  them  now 
The  like  of  •whom  I  never  did  see. 


BALLADS.  259 

21.  '  For  on  every  finger  she  has  a  ring, 

And  on  the  mid-finger  she  has  three, 
An  there  's  as  meikle  goud  aboon  her  brow 
As  would  buy  an  earldome  o  Ian  to  me.' 

22.  Then  up  it  started  young  Beichan, 

An  sware  so  loud  by  our  Lady, 
'  It  can  be  nane  but  Susie  Pye, 
That  has  come  oer  the  sea  to  me.' 

23.  O  quickly  ran  he  down  the  stair, 

O  fifteen  steps  he  has  made  but  three  ; 
He  's  tane  his  bonny  love  in  his  arms, 
An  a  wot  he  kissd  her  tenderly. 

24.  'O  hae  you  tane  a  bonny  bride  ? 

An  hae  you  quite  forsaken  me  ? 
An  hae  ye  quite  forgotten  her 
That  gae  you  life  and  liberty  ? ' 

25.  She  's  lookit  oer  her  left  shoulder 

To  hide  the  tears  stood  in  her  ee  ; 
'  Now  fare  the  well,  young  Beichan,'  she  says, 
'  I  '11  strive  to  think  nae  mair  on  thee.' 

26.  '  Take  back  your  daughter,  madam,'  he  says, 

'  An  a  double  dowry  J  '11  gi  her  wi ; 
For  I  maun  marry  my  first  true  love, 

That 's  done  and  suffered  so  much  for  me.' 

27.  He  's  take  his  bonny  love  by  the  han, 

And  led  her  to  yon  fountain  stane ; 
He  's  changed  her  name  frae  Susie  Pye, 

An  he  's  cald  her  his  bonny  love,  Lady  Jane. 


260  BALLADS. 


HIND    HORN. 

1.  In  Scotland  there  was  a  babie  born, 

Lill  lal,  etc. 

And  his  name  it  was  called  young  Hind  Horn. 
With  a  fal  lal,  etc. 

2.  He  sent  a  letter  to  our  king 

That  he  was  in  love  with  his  daughter  Jean. 

3.  The  king  an  angry  man  was  he  ; 

He  sent  young  Hind  Horn  to  the  sea. 

4.  He  's  gien  to  her  a  silver  wand, 

With  seven  living  lavrocks  sitting  thereon. 

5.  She  's  gien  to  him  a  diamond  ring, 
With  seven  bright  diamonds  set  therein. 

6.  '  When  this  ring  grows  pale  and  wan, 
You  may  know  by  it  my  love  is  gane.' 

7.     One  day  as  he  looked  his  ring  upon, 
He  saw  the  diamonds  pale  and  wan. 

8.  He  left  the  sea  and  came  to  land, 

And  the  first  that  he  met  was  an  old  beggar  man. 

9.  '  What  news,  what  news  ? '  said  young  Hind  Horn  ; 
'  No  news,  no  news,'  said  the  old  beggar  man. 

10.     '  No  news,'  said  the  beggar,  '  no  news  at  a', 
But  there  is  a  wedding  in  the  king's  ha. 


BALLADS.  261 

11.  '  But  there  is  a  wedding  in  the  king's  ha, 
That  has  halden  these  forty  days  and  twa.' 

12.  '  Will  ye  lend  me  your  begging  coat? 
And  I  '11  lend  you  my  scarlet  cloak. 

13.  '  Will  you  lend  me  your  beggar's  rung? 
And  I  '11  gie  you  my  steed  to  ride  upon. 

1 4.  '  Will  you  lend  me  your  wig  o  hair, 
To  cover  mine,  because  it  is  fair  ? ' 

15.  The  auld  beggar  man  was  bound  for  the  mill, 
But  young  Hind  Horn  for  the  king's  hall. 

1 6.  The  auld  beggar  man  was  bound  for  to  ride, 
But  young  Hind  Horn  was  bound  for  the  bride. 

17.  When  he  came  to  the  king's  gate, 

He  sought  a  drink  for  Hind  Horn's  sake. 

1 8.  The  bride  came  down  with  a  glass  of  wine, 
When  he  drank  out  the  glass,  and  dropt  in  the  ring. 

19.  'O  got  ye  this  by  sea  or  land ? 

Or  got  ye  it  off  a  dead  man's  hand  ? ' 

20.  'I  got  not  it  by  sea,  I  got  it  by  land, 

And  I  got  it,  madam,  out  of  your  own  hand.' 

21.  'O  I  '11  cast  off  my  gowns  of  brown, 
And  beg  wi  you  frae  town  to  town. 

22.  'O  I  '11  cast  off  my  gowns  of  red, 
And  I  '11  beg  wi  you  to  win  my  bread.' 


262  BALLADS. 

23.  'Ye  needna  cast  off  your  gowns  of  brown, 
For  I  '11  make  you  lady  o  many  a  town. 

24.  '  Ye  needna  cast  off  your  gowns  o  red, 

It 's  only  a  sham,  the  begging  o  my  bread.' 


BALLADS.  263 


KATHARINE   JAFFRAY. 

1.  There  livd  a  lass  in  yonder  dale, 

And  doun  in  yonder  glen,  O, 
And  Kathrine  Jaffray  was  her  name, 
Well  known  by  many  men,  O. 

2.  Out  came  the  Laird  of  Lauderdale, 

Out  frae  the  South  Countrie, 
All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid, 
Her  bridegroom  for  to  be. 

3.  He  has  teld  her  father  and  mither  baith, 

And  a'  the  rest  o  her  kin, 

And  has  teld  the  lass  hersell, 

And  her  consent  has  win. 

4.  Then  came  the  Laird  of  Lochinton, 

Out  frae  the  English  border, 

All  for  to  court  this  pretty  maid, 

Well  mounted  in  good  order. 

5.  He  's  teld  her  father  and  mither  baith, 

As  I  hear  sindry  say, 
But  he  has  nae  teld  the  lass  her  sell, 
Till  on  her  wedding  day. 

6.  When  day  was  set,  and  friends  were  met, 

And  married  to  be, 
Lord  Lauderdale  came  to  the  place, 
The  bridal  for  to  see. 


264  BALLADS. 

7.  'O  are  you  come  for  sport,  young  man  ? 

Or  are  you  come  for  play  ? 
Or  are  you  come  for  a  sight  o  our  bride, 
Just  on  her  wedding  day  ? ' 

8.  '  I  'm  nouther  come  for  sport,'  he  says, 

'  Nor  am  I  come  for  play ; 
But  if  I  had  one  sight  o  your  bride, 
I  '11  mount  and  ride  away.' 

9.  There  was  a  glass  of  the  red  wine 

Filld  up  them  atween, 
And  ay  she  drank  to  Lauderdale, 
Wha  her  true-love  had  been. 

10.  Then  he  took  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 

And  by  the  grass-green  sleeve, 
And  he  mounted  her  high  behind  him  there, 
At  the  bridegroom  he  askt  nae  leive. 

1 1 .  Then  the  blude  run  down  by  the  Cowden  Banks, 

And  down  by  Cowden  Braes, 
And  ay  she  gard  the  trumpet  sound, 
'  O  this  is  foul,  foul  play  ! ' 

12.  Now  a'  ye  that  in  England  are, 

Or  are  in  England  born, 
Come  nere  to  Scotland  to  court  a  lass, 
Or  else  ye  '1  get  the  scorn. 

13.  They  haik  ye  up  and  settle  ye  by, 

Till  on  your  wedding  day, 

And  gie  ye  frogs  instead  o  fish, 

And  play  ye  foul,  foul  play. 


BALLADS.  265 


THE  GAY   GOSHAWK. 

1 .  '  O  well 's  me  o  my  gay  goss-hawk, 

That  he  can  speak  and  flee  ; 
He  '11  carry  a  letter  to  my  love, 
Bring  back  another  to  me.' 

2.  'O  how  can  I  your  true-love  ken, 

Or  how  can  I  her  know  ? 
Whan  frae  her  mouth  I  never  heard  couth, 
Nor  wi  my  eyes  her  saw.' 

3.  '  O  well  sal  ye  my  true-love  ken, 

As  soon  as  you  her  see  ; 
For,  of  a'  the  flowrs  in  fair  Englan, 
The  fairest  flowr  is  she. 

4.  'At  even  at  my  love's  bowr-door 

There  grows  a  bowing  birk, 
And  sit  ye  down  and  sing  thereon 
As  she  gangs  to  the  kirk. 

5.  'An  four-and-twenty  ladies  fair 

Will  wash  and  go  to  kirk, 
But  well  shall  ye  my  true-love  ken, 
For  she  wears  goud  on  her  skirt. 

6.  '  An  four-an-twenty  gay  ladies 

Will  to  the  mass  repair, 
But  well  sal  ye  my  true-love  ken, 
For  she  wears  goud  on  her  hair.' 


266  BALLADS. 

7.  O  even  at  that  lady's  bowr  door 

There  grows  a  bowing  birk, 
And  she  sat  down  and  sang  thereon, 
As  she  ged  to  the  kirk. 

8.  '  O  eat  and  drink,  my  marys  a', 

The  wine  flows  you  among, 
Till  I  gang  to  my  shot-window, 
An  hear  yon  bonny  bird's  song. 

9.  '  Sing  on,  sing  on,  my  bonny  bird, 

The  song  ye  sang  the  streen, 
For  I  ken  by  your  sweet  singin, 
You  're  frae  my  true-love  sen.' 

10.  O  first  he  sang  a  merry  song, 

An  then  he  sang  a  grave  ; 
An  then  he  peck'd  his  feathers  gray, 
To  her  the  letter  gave. 

11.  '  Ha,  there  's  a  letter  frae  your  love, 

He  says  he  sent  you  three  ; 

He  canno  wait  your  love  langer, 

But  for  your  sake  he  '11  die. 

12.  '  He  bids  you  write  a  letter  to  him ; 

He  says  he  's  sent  you  five  ; 
He  canna  wait  your  love  langer, 

Tho  you  're  the  fairest  woman  alive.' 

13.  '  Ye  bid  him  bake  his  bridal  bread, 

And  brew  his  bridal  ale, 
An  I  '11  meet  him  in  fair  Scotlan 
Lang,  lang  or  it  be  stale.' 


BALLADS.  267 

14.  She  's  doen  her  to  her  father  dear, 

Fa'n  low  down  on  her  knee  : 
'  A  boon,  a  boon,  my  father  dear, 
I  pray  you,  grant  it  me.' 

15.  'Ask  on,  ask  on,  my  daughter, 

And  granted  it  sal  be  ; 
Except  ae  squire  in  fair  Scotlan, 
An  him  you  sail  never  see.' 

1 6.  '  The  only  boon,  my  father  dear, 

That  I  do  crave  of  thee, 

Is,  gin  I  die  in  southin  lans, 

In  Scotland  to  bury  me. 

17.  'An  the  firstin  kirk  that  ye  come  till, 

Ye  gar  the  bells  be  rung, 
An  the  nextin  kirk  that  ye  come  till, 
Ye  gar  the  mess  be  sung. 

1 8.  'And  the  thirdin  kirk  that  ye  come  till, 

You  deal  gold  for  my  sake, 
An  the  fourthin  kirk  that  ye  come  till, 
You  tarry  there  till  night.' 

19.  She  is  doen  her  to  her  bigly  bowr, 

As  fast  as  she  coud  fare, 
An  she  has  tane  a  sleepy  draught, 
That  she  had  mixd  wi  care. 

20.  She  's  laid  her  down  upon  her  bed, 

An  soon  she  's  fa'n  asleep, 
And  soon  o'er  every  tender  limb 
Cauld  death  began  to  creep. 


268  BALLADS. 

21.  Whan  night  was  flown,  an  day  was  come, 

Nae  ane  that  did  her  see 
But  thought  she  was  as  surely  dead 
As  ony  lady  coud  be. 

22.  Her  father  an  her  brothers  dear 

Gard  make  to  her  a  bier ; 
The  tae  half  was  o  guid  red  gold, 
The  tither  o  silver  clear. 

23.  Her  mither  an  her  sisters  fair 

Gard  work  for  her  a  sark  ; 
The  tae  half  was  o  cambrick  fine, 
The  tither  o  needle  wark. 

24.  The  firstin  kirk  that  they  came  till, 

They  gard  the  bells  be  rung, 
And  the  nextin  kirk  that  they  came  till, 
They  gard  the  mess  be  sung. 

25.  The  thirdin  kirk  that  they  came  till, 

They  dealt  gold  for  her  sake, 
An  the  fourthin  kirk  that  they  came  till, 
Lo,  there  they  met  her  make  ! 

26.  '  Lay  down,  lay  down  the  bigly  bier, 

Lat  me  the  dead  look  on  ; ' 

Wi  cherry  cheeks  and  ruby  lips 

She  lay  an  smiled  on  him. 

27.  'O  ae  sheave  o  your  bread,  true-love, 

An  ae  glass  o  your  wine, 

For  I  hae  fasted  for  your  sake 

These  fully  days  is  nine. 


BALLADS.  269 

28.     '  Gang  hame,  gang  hame,  my  seven  bold 

brothers, 

Gang  hame  and  sound  your  horn ; 
An  ye  may  boast  in  southin  lans 
Your  sister's  play'd  you  scorn.' 


270  BALLADS. 


KING    ESTMERE. 

1.  Hearken  to  me,  gentlemen, 

Come  and  you  shall  heare  ; 
He  tell  you  of  two  of  the  boldest  brether 
That  ever  borne  were. 

2.  The  tone  of  them  was  Adler  Younge, 

The  tother  was  Kyng  Estmere ; 
The  were  as  bolde  men  in  their  deeds 
As  any  were,  farr  and  neare. 

3.  As  they  were  drinking  ale  and  wine 

Within  his  brother's  halle, 
'  When  will  ye  marry  a  wyfe,  brother, 
A  wyfe  to  glad  us  all  ? ' 

4.  Then  bespake  him  Kyng  Estmere, 

And  answered  him  hartilye  : 
'  I  know  not  that  ladye  in  any  land, 
That  is  able  to  marry  with  mee.' 

5.  '  Kyng  Adland  hath  a  daughter,  brother, 

Men  call  her  bright  and  sheene  ; 
If  I  were  kyng  here  in  your  stead, 
That  ladye  shold  be  my  queene.' 

6.  Saies,  '  Reade  me,  reade  me,  deare  brother, 

Throughout  merry  England, 
Where  we  might  find  a  messenger 
Betwixt  us  towe  to  sende.' 


BALLADS.  271 

7.  Sales,  'You  shal  ryde  yourselfe,  brother, 

lie  beare  you  companye  ; 

Many  a  man  throughe  fals  messengers  is  deceived, 
And  I  feare  lest  soe  shold  wee.' 

8.  Thus  the  renisht  them  to  ryde 

Of  twoe  good  renisht  steeds, 
And  when  the  came  to  King  Adlands  halle, 
Of  redd  gold  shone  their  weeds. 

9.  And  when  the  came  to  Kyng  Adlands  hall 

Before  the  goodlye  gate, 
There  they  found  good  Kyng  Adland 
Rearing  himselfe  theratt. 

10.  '  Now  Christ  thee  save,  good  Kyng  Adland  ; 

Now  Christ  you  save  and  see ; ' 
Sayd,  '  You  be  welcome,  King  Estmere, 
Right  hartilye  to  mee.' 

11.  'You  have  a  daughter,'  said  Adler  Younge, 

'  Men  call  her  bright  and  sheene, 
My  brother  wold  marrye  her  to  his  wiffe, 
Of  Englande  to  be  queene.' 

12.  'Yesterday  was  att  my  deere  daughter 

The  king  his  sonne  of  Spayn, 
And  then  she  nicked  him  of  naye, 

And  I  doubt  sheele  do  you  the  same.' 

13.  '  The  Kyng  of  Spayne  is  a  foule  paynim 

And  'leeveth  on  Mahound, 
And  pitye  it  were  that  fayre  ladye, 
Shold  marrye  a  heathen  hound.' 


272  BALLADS. 

14.  '  But  grant  to  me,'  sayes  Kyng  Estmere, 

'  For  my  love  I  you  praye, 
That  I  may  see  your  daughter  deere 
Before  I  goe  hence  awaye.' 

15.  'Although  itt  is  seven  years  and  more 

Since  my  daughter  was  in  halle, 
She  shall  come  once  downe  for  your  sake, 
To  glad  my  guestes  alle.' 

1 6.  Downe  then  came  that  mayden  fayre, 

With  ladyes  laced  in  pall, 
And  halfe  a  hundred  of  bold  knightes, 

To  bring  her  from  bowre  to  hall  • 
And  as  many  gentle  squiers, 

To  tend  upon  them  all. 

17.  The  talents  of  golde  were  on  her  head  sette 

Hanged  low  downe  to  her  knee, 
And  everye  ring  on  her  small  finger 
Shone  of  the  chrystall  free. 

1 8.  Saies,  'God  you  save,  my  deere  madam,' 

Saies,  '  God  you  save  and  see ; ' 
Said,  '  You  be  welcome,  Kyng  Estmere, 
Right  welcome  unto  mee. 

19.  'And,  if  you  love  me,  as  you  saye, 

Soe  well  and  hartilee, 
All  that  ever  you  are  comen  about 
Soone  sped  now  itt  shal  bee.' 

20.  Then  bespake  her  father  deare  : 

'  My  daughter,  I  saye  naye  ; 
Remember  well  the  Kyng  of  Spayne, 
What  he  sayd  yesterdaye. 


BALLADS.  273 

21.  '  He  wold  pull  downe  my  halles  and  castles, 

And  reave  me  of  my  lyfe  : 
I  cannot  blame  him  if  he  doe, 
If  I  reave  him  of  his  wyfe.' 

22.  '  Your  castles  and  your  towres,  father, 

Are  stronglye  built  aboute, 
And  therefore  of  the  king  his  sonne  of  Spaine 
We  neede  not  stande  in  doubt. 

23.  '  Plight  me  your  troth,  nowe,  Kyng  Estmere, 

By  heaven  and  your  righte  hand, 
That  you  will  marrye  me  to  your  wyfe, 
And  make  me  queene  of  your  land.' 

24.  Then  Kyng  Estmere  he  plight  his  troth, 

By  heaven  and  his  righte  hand, 
That  he  wolde  marrye  her  to  his  wyfe, 
And  make  her  queene  of  his  land. 

25.  And  he  tooke  leave  of  that  ladye  fayre, 

To  goe  to  his  owne  countree, 
To  fetche  him  dukes  and  lordes  and  knightes, 
That  marryed  the  might  bee. 

26.  They  had  not  ridden  scant  a  myle, 

A  myle  forthe  of  the  towne, 
But  in  did  come  the  Kyng  of  Spayne, 
With  kempes  many  one. 

27.  But  in  did  come  the  Kyng  of  Spayne, 

With  manye  a  bold  barone, 
Tone  day  to  marrye  Kyng  Adlands  daughter, 
Tother  daye  to  carrye  her  home. 


274  BALLADS. 

28.  Shee  sent  one  after  Kyng  Estmere 

In  all  the  spede  might  bee, 
That  he  must  either  turne  againe  and  fighte, 
Or  goe  home  and  loose  his  ladye. 

29.  One  whyle  then  the  page  he  went, 

Another  while  he  ranne  ; 
Till  he  had  oretaken  King  Estmere, 
I-wis  he  never  blanne. 

30.  '  Tydings,  tydings,  Kyng  Estmere  ! ' 

'  What  tydinges  nowe,  my  boye  ? ' 
*O  tydinges  I  can  tell  to  you, 
That  will  you  sore  annoye. 

31.  '  You  had  not  ridden  scant  a  mile, 

A  mile  out  of  the  towne, 
But  in  did  come  the  Kyng  of  Spayne, 
With  kempe's  many  a  one. 

32.  '  But  in  did  come  the  Kyng  of  Spayne, 

With  manye  a  bold  barone, 
Tone  daye  to  marrye  King  Adlands  daughter, 
Tother  daye  to  carry  her  home. 

33.  '  My  ladye  fayre  she  greetes  you  well, 

And  ever-more  well  by  mee  : 
You  must  either  turne  againe  and  fighte, 
Or  goe  home  and  loose  your  ladye.' 

34.  Saies,  '  Reade  me,  reade  me,  deere  brother, 

My  reade  shall  ryse  at  thee, 
Whether  it  is  better  to  turne  and  fighte, 
Or  goe  home  and  loose  my  ladye.' 


BALLADS.  275 

35.  '  Now  hearken  to  me,'  sayes  Adler  Yonge, 

'  And  your  reade  must  rise  at  me ; 
I  quicklye  will  devise  a  waye 
To  sette  thy  ladye  free. 

36.  '  My  mother  was  a  westerne  woman, 

And  learned  in  gramarye, 
And  when  I  learned  at  the  schole, 
Something  shee  taught  itt  mee. 

37.  '  There  growes  an  hearbe  within  this  field, 

And  iff  it  were  but  knowne, 
His  color,  which  is  whyte  and  redd, 
It  will  make  blacke  and  browne. 

38.  c  His  color,  which  is  browne  and  blacke, 

Itt  will  make  redd  and  whyte ; 
That  sworde  is  not  in  all  Englande 
Upon  his  coate  will  byte. 

39.  'And  you  shal  be  a  harper,  brother, 

Out  of  the  north  countrye, 
And  lie  be  your  boy,  soe  faine  of  fighte, 
And  beare  your  harpe  by  your  knee. 

40.  '  And  you  shal  be  the  best  harper 

That  ever  tooke  harpe  in  hand, 
And  I  wil  be  the  best  singer 
That  ever  sung  in  this  lande. 

41.  '  Itt  shal  be  written  in  our  forheads 

All  and  in  grammarye, 
That  we  towe  are  the  boldest  men 
That  are  in  all  Christentye.' 


276  BALLADS. 

42.  And  thus  they  renisht  them  to  ryde, 

Of  tow  good  renisht  steedes  ; 
And  when  they  came  to  King  Adlands  hall, 
Of  redd  gold  shone  their  weedes.- 

43.  And  whan  the  came  to  Kyng  Adlands  hall, 

Untill  the  fayre  hall  yate, 
There  they  found  a  proud  porter 
Rearing  himselfe  thereatt. 

44.  Sayes,  'Christ  thee  save,  thou  proud  porter,' 

Sayes,  '  Christ  thee  save  and  see  : ' 
'  No  we  you  be  welcome,'  sayd  the  porter, 
'Of  what  land  soever  ye  bee.' 

45.  '  Wee  beene  harpers,'  sayd  Adler  Younge, 

'  Come  out  of  the  northe  countrye  ; 
Wee  beene  come  hither  untill  this  place 
This  proud  weddinge  for  to  see.' 

46.  Sayd,  'And  your  color  were  white  and  redd, 

As  it  is  blacke  and  browne, 
I  wold  saye  King  Estmere  and  his  brother 
Were  comen  untill  this  towne.' 

47.  Then  they  pulled  out  a  ryng  of  gold, 

Layd  itt  on  the  porters  arme  : 
*  And  ever  we  will  thee,  proud  porter, 
Thou  wilt  saye  us  no  harme.' 

48.  Sore  he  looked  on  Kyng  Estmere, 

And  sore  he  handled  the  ryng, 
Then  opened  to  them  the  fayre  hall-yates, 
He  lett  for  no  kind  of  thyng. 


BALLADS.  277 

49.  Kyng  Estmere  he  stabled  his  steede 

Soe  fayre  att  the  hall-bord ; 
The  froth  that  came  from  his  brydle  bitte 
Light  in  Kyng  Bremors  beard. 

50.  Saies,  'Stable  thy  steed,  thou  proud  harper,' 

Saies,  '  Stable  him  in  the  stalle ; 
It  doth  not  beseeme  a  proud  harper 
To  stable  his  steed  in  a  kyngs  halle.' 

51.  '  My  ladde  he  is  so  lither,'  he  said, 

'  He  will  doe  nought  that 's  meete  ; 
And  is  there  any  man  in  this  hall 
Were  able  him  to  beate  ? ' 

52.  '  Thou  speakst  proud  words,'  sayes  the  King  of 

Spaine, 

'  Thou  harper,  here  to  mee  : 
There  is  a  man  within  this  halle, 
Will  beate  thy  ladd  and  thee.' 

53.  'O  let  that  man  come  downe,'  he  said, 

'A  sight  of  him  wold  I  see ; 
And  when  hee  hath  beaten  well  my  ladd,    • 
Then  he  shall  beate  of  mee.' 

54.  Downe  then  came  the  kemperye  man, 

And  looked  him  in  the  eare  ; 
For  all  the  gold  that  was  under  heaven, 
He  durst  not  neigh  him  neare. 

55.  'And  how  nowe,  kempe,'  said  the  Kyng  of  Spaine, 

'And  how,  what  aileth  thee? ' 
He  saies,  '  It  is  writt  in  his  forhead, 

All  and  in  gramarye, 
That  for  all  the  gold  that  is  under  heaven, 

I  dare  not  neigh  him  nye.' 


278  BALLADS. 

56.  Then  Kyng  Estmere  pulld  forth  his  harpe, 

And  plaid  a  pretty  thinge  : 
The  lady  upstart  from  the  horde, 
And  wold  have  gone  from  the  king. 

57.  '  Stay  thy  harpe,  thou  proud  harper, 

For  Gods  love  I  pray  thee, 
For  and  thou  playes  as  thou  beginns, 
Thou 'It  till  my  bryde  from  mee.' 

58.  He  stroake  upon  his  harpe  againe, 

And  playd  a  pretty  thinge ; 
The  lady  lough  a  loud  laughter, 
As  shee  sate  by  the  king. 

59.  Saies,  '  Sell  me  thy  harpe,  thou  proud  harper, 

And  thy  stringes  all, 
For  as  many  gold  nobles  thou  shalt  have 
As  heere  bee  ringes  in  the  hall.' 

60.  '  What  wold  ye  doe  with  my  harpe,'  he  sayd, 

1  If  I  did  sell  itt  yee  ? ' 
•To  playe  my  wiffe  and  me  a  fitt, 
When  abed  together  wee  bee.' 

61.  '  Now  sell  me,'  quoth  hee,  'thy  bryde  soe  gay, 

As  shee  sitts  by  thy  knee, 
And  as  many  gold  nobles  I  will  give 
As  leaves  been  on  a  tree.' 

62.  'And  what  wold  ye  doe  with  my  bryde  soe  gay, 

Iff  I  did  sell  her  thee  ? 
More  seemelye  it  is  for  her  fayre»bodye 
To  lye  by  me  than  thee.' 


BALLADS.  279 

63.  Hee  played  agayne  both  loud  and  shrille 

And  Adler  he  did  syng, 
'O  ladye,  this  is  thy  owne  true  love, 
Noe  harper,  but  a  kyng. 

64.  '  O  ladye,  this  is  thy  owne  true  love, 

As  playnlye  thou  mayest  see, 
And  He  rid  thee  of  that  foule  paynim 
Who  partes  thy  love  and  thee.' 

65.  The  ladye  looked,  the  ladye  blushte, 

And  blushte  and  lookt  agayne, 
While  Adler  he  hath  drawne  his  brande 
And  hath  the  sowdan  slayne. 

66.  Up  then  rose  the  kemperye  men, 

And  loud  they  gan  to  crye  : 
'  Ah  !  traytors,  yee  have  slayne  our  kyng, 
And  therefore  yee  shall  dye.' 

67.  Kyng  Estmere  threwe  the  harpe  asyde 

And  swith  he  drew  his  brand, 

And  Estmere  he  and  Adler  Yonge 

Right  stiffe  in  stour  can  stand. 

68.  And  aye  their  swordes  soe  sore  can  byte, 

Throughe  help  of  gramarye, 
That  soone  they  have  slayne  the  kempery  men, 
Or  forst  them  forth  to  flee. 

69.  Kyng  Estmere  tooke  that  fayre  ladye, 

And  marryed  her  to  his  wiffe, 
And  brought  her  home  to  merry  England 
With  her  to  leade  his  life. 


280  BALLADS. 


KEMP    OWYNE. 

1.  Her  mother  died  when  she  was  young, 

Which  gave  her  cause  to  make  great  moan  ; 
Her  father  married  the  warst  woman 
That  ever  lived  in  Christendom. 

2.  She  served  her  with  foot  and  hand, 

In  every  thing  that  she  could  dee, 
Till  once,  in  an  unlucky  time, 

She  threw  her  in  ower  Craigy's  sea. 

3.  Says,  '  Lye  you  there,  dove  Isabel, 

And  all  my  sorrows  lye  with  thee ; 
Till  Kemp  Owyne  come  ower  the  sea, 

And  borrow  you  with  kisses  three  : 
Let  all  the  warld  do  what  they  will, 

Oh  borrowed  shall  you  never  be.' 

4.  Her  breath  grew  strang,  her  hair  grew  lang, 

And  twisted  thrice  about  the  tree, 
And  all  the  people,  far  and  near, 

Thought  that  a  savage  beast  was  she. 

5.  These  news  did  come  to  Kemp  Owyne, 

Where  he  lived  far  beyond  the  sea ; 
He  hasted  him  to  Craigy's  sea, 
And  on  the  savage  beast  lookt  he. 

6.  Her  breath  was  strang,  her  hair  was  lang, 

And  twisted  was  about  the  tree, 
And  with  a  swing  she  came  about : 

'  Come  to  Craigy's  sea,  and  kiss  with  me. 


BALLADS.  281 

7.  '  Here  is  a  royal  belt,'  she  cried, 

'  That  I  have  found  in  the  green  sea ; 
And  while  your  body  it  is  on, 

Drawn  shall  your  blood  never  be ; 
But  if  you  touch  me,  tail  or  fin, 

I  vow  my  belt  your  death  shall  be.' 

8.  He  stepped  in,  gave  her  a  kiss, 

The  royal  belt  he  brought  him  wi ; 
Her  breath  was  strang,  her  hair  was  lang, 

And  twisted  twice  about  the  tree, 
And  with  a  swing  she  came  about : 

'  Come  to  Craigy's  sea,  and  kiss  with  me. 

9.  '  Here  is  a  royal  .ring,'  she  said, 

'  That  I  have  found  in  the  green  sea  ; 
And  while  your  finger  it  is  on, 

Drawn  shall  your  blood  never  be ; 
But  if  you  touch  me,  tail  or  fin, 

I  swear  my  ring  your  death  shall  be.' 

10.  He  stepped  in,  gave  her  a  kiss, 

The  royal  ring  he  brought  him  wi ; 
Her  breath  was  strang,  her  hair  was  lang, 

And  twisted  ance  about  the  tree, 
And  with  a  swing  she  came  about : 

'  Come  to  Craigy's  sea,  and  kiss  with  me. 

11.  '  Here  is  a  royal  brand,'  she  said, 

'  That  I  have  found  in  the  green  sea ; 
And  while  your  body  it  is  on, 

Drawn  shall  your  blood  never  be ; 
But  if  you  touch  me,  tail  or  fin, 

I  swear  my  brand  your  death  shall  be.' 


282  BALLADS. 

12.     He  stepped  in,  gave  her  a  kiss, 

The  royal  brand  he  brought  him  wi ; 
Her  breath  was  sweet,  her  hair  grew  short, 

And  twisted  nane  about  the  tree ; 
And  smilingly  she  came  about, 
As  fair  a  woman  as  fair  could  be. 


BALLADS.  283 


TAM    LIN. 

1.  O  I  forbid  you,  maidens  a', 

That  wear  gowd  on  your  hair, 
To  come  or  gae  by  Carterhaugh, 
For  young  Tarn  Lin  is  there. 

2.  Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  aboon  her  knee, 
.  And  she  has  broded  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  aboon  her  bree, 
And  she  's  awa  to  Carterhaugh, 
As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

3.  When  she  came  to  Carterhaugh, 

Tam  Lin  was  at  the  well, 
And  there  she  fand  his  steed  standing, 
But  away  was  himsel. 

4.  She  had  na  pu'd  a  double  rose, 

A  rose  but  only  twa, 
Till  up  then  started  young  Tam  Lin, 
Says,  '  Lady,  thou  's  pu  nae  mae. 

5.  '  Why  pu's  thou  the  rose,  Janet, 

And  why  breaks  thou  the  wand  ? 
Or  why  comes  thou  to  Carterhaugh 
Withoutten  my  command  ? ' 

6.  '  Carterhaugh,  it  is  my  ain, 

My  daddie  gave  it  me  ; 
I  '11  come  and  gang  by  Carterhaugh, 
And  ask  nae  leave  at  thee.' 


284  BALLADS. 

7.  Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  aboon  her  knee, 
And  she  has  snooded  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  aboon  her  bree, 
And  she  is  to  her  father's  ha, 

As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

8.  Four  and  twenty  ladies  fair 

Were  playing  at  the  ba, 
And  out  there  cam  the  fair  Janet, 
Ance  the  flower  amang  them  a'. 

9.  Four  and  twenty  ladies  fair 

Were  playing  at  the  chess, 
And  out  then  cam  the  fair  Janet, 
As  green  as  onie  glass. 

10.  Out  then  spak  an  auld  grey  knight, 

Lay  oer  the  castle  wa, 
And  says,  'Alas,  fair  Janet,  for  thee 
But  we  '11  be  blamed  a'.' 

11.  '  Haud  your  tongue,  ye  auld  fac'd  knight, 

Some  ill  death  may  ye  die  ! 
Father  my  bairn  on  whom  I  will, 
I  '11  father  nane  on  thee.' 

12.  Out  then  spak  her  father  dear, 

And  he  spak  meek  and  mild ; 
'And  ever  alas,  sweet  Janet,'  he  says, 
'  I  think  thou  gaes  wi  child.' 

13.  'If  that  I  gae  wi  child,  father, 

Mysel  maun  bear  the  blame  ; 
There  's  neer  a  laird  about  your  ha 
Shall  get  the  bairn's  name. 


BALLADS.  285 

14.  'If  my  love  were  an  earthly  knight, 

As  he 's  an  elfin  grey, 
I  wad  na  gie  my  ain  true-love 
For  nae  lord  that  ye  hae. 

15.  'The  steed  that  my  true-love  rides  on 

Is  lighter  than  the  wind  ; 
Wi  siller  he  is  shod  before, 
Wi  burning  gowd  behind.' 

1 6.  Janet  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  aboon  her  knee, 
And  she  has  snooded  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  aboon  her  bree, 
And  she  's  awa  to  Carterhaugh, 

As  fast  as  she  can  hie. 

17.  When  she  cam  to  Carterhaugh, 

Tarn  Lin  was  at  the  well, 
And  there  she  fand  his  steed  standing, 
But  away  was  himsel. 

18.  She  had  na  pu'd  a  double  rose, 

A  rose  but  only  twa, 
Till  up  then  started  young  Tarn  Lin. 
Says,  '  Lady,  thou  pu's  nae  mae. 

19.  '  Why  pu's  thou  the  rose,  Janet, 

Amang  the  groves  sae  green, 
An  a'  to  kill  the  bonie  babe 
That  we  gat  us  between  ? ' 

20.  'O  tell  me.  tell  me,  Tarn  Lin,'  she  says, 

'  For  's  sake  that  died  on  tree, 
If  eer  ye  was  in  holy  chapel, 
Or  Christendom  did  see  ? ' 


286  BALLADS. 

21.  '  Roxbrugh  he  was  my  grandfather, 

Took  me  with  him  to  bide, 
And  ance  it  fell  upon  a  day 
That  wae  did  me  betide. 

22.  '  And  ance  it  fell  upon  a  day, 

A  cauld  day  and  a  snell, 
When  we  were  frae  the  hunting  come, 

That  frae  my  horse  I  fell ; 
The  Queen  o  Fairies  she  caught  me, 

In  yon  green  hill  to  dwell. 

23.  '  And  pleasant  is  the  fairy  land, 

But,  an  eerie  tale  to  tell, 
Ay  at  the  end  of  seven  years 

We  pay  a  tiend  to  hell ; 
I  am  sae  fair  and  fu  o  flesh, 

I  'm  feard  it  be  mysel. 

24.     '  But  the  night  is  Halloween,  lady, 

The  morn  is  Hallowday ; 
Then  win  me,  win  me,  an  ye  will, 
For  weel  I  wat  ye  may. 

25.  '  Just  at  the  mirk  and  midnight  hour 

The  fairy  folk  will  ride,        « 
And  they  that  wad  their  true-love  win, 
At  Miles  Cross  they  maun  bide.' 

26.  '  But  how  shall  I  thee  ken,  Tam  Lin, 

Or  how  my  true-love  know, 
Amang  sae  mony  unco  knights 
The  like  I  never  saw  ? ' 


BALLADS.  287 

27.  'O  first  let  pass  the  black,  lady, 

And  syne  let  pass  the  brown, 
But  quickly  run  to  the  milk-white  steed, 
*     Pu  ye  his  rider  down. 

28.  '  For  I  '11  ride  on  the  milk-white  steed, 

And  ay  nearest  the  town  ; 
Because  I  was  an  earthly  knight 
They  gie  me  that  renown. 

29.  'My  right  hand  will  be  glovd,  lady, 

My  left  hand  will  be  bare, 
Cockt  up  shall  my  bonnet  be 

And  kaimd  down  shall  my  hair, 
And  thae  's  the  takens  I  gie  thee, 

Nae  doubt  I  will  be  there. 

30.  'They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  lady, 

Into  an  esk  and  adder  ; 
But  hold  me  fast  and  fear  me  not, 
I  am  your  bairn's  father. 

31.  '  They  '11  turn  me  to  a  bear  sae  grim, 

And  then  a  lion  bold, 
But  hold  me  fast  and  fear  me  not, 
As  ye  shall  love  your  child. 

32.  'Again  they'll  turn  me  in  your  arms 

To  a  red  het  gaud  of  airn ; 
But  hold  me  fast  and  fear  me  not, 
I  '11  do  to  you  nae  harm. 

33.  'And  last  they'll  turn  me  in  your  arms 

Into  the  burning  gleed  ; 
Then  throw  me  into  well  water, 
O  throw  me  in  wi  speed. 


288  BALLADS. 

34.  'And  then  I  '11  be  your  ain  true-love, 

I  '11  turn  a  naked  knight ; 
Then  cover  me  wi  your  green  mantle, 
And  cover  me  out  o  sight.'  , 

35.  Gloomy,  gloomy  was  the  night, 

And  eerie  was  the  way, 
As  fair  Jenny  in  her  green  mantle 
To  Miles  Cross  she  did  gae. 

36.  About  the  middle  o  the  night 

She  heard  the  bridles  ring ; 
iThis  lady  was  as  glad  at  that 
As  any  earthly  thing. 

37.  First  she  let  the  black  pass  by, 

And  syne  she  let  the  brown ; 
But  quickly  she  ran  to  the  milk-white  steed, 
And  pu'd  the  rider  down. 

38.  Sae  weel  she  minded  whae  he  did  say, 

And  young  Tarn  Lin  did  win ; 
Syne  coverd  him  wi  her  green  mantle, 
As  blyth  's  a  bird  in  spring. 

39.  Out  then  spak  the  Queen  o  Fairies, 

Out  of  a  bush  o  broom  : 
'  Them  that  has  gotten  young  Tarn  Lin 
Has  gotten  a  stately  groom.' 

40.  Out  then  spak  the  Queen  o  Fairies, 

And  an  angry  woman  was  she  : 
'  Shame  betide  her  ill-far'd  face, 

And  an  ill  death  may  she  die, 
For  she 's  taen  awa  the  boniest  knight 

In  a'  my  companie, 


BALLADS.  289 

41.     '  But  had  I  kend,  Tarn  Lin,'  she  says, 

'  What  now  this  night  I  see, 
I  wad  hae  taen  out  thy  twa  grey  een, 
And  put  in  twa  een  o  tree.' 


290  BALLADS. 


THOMAS    RYMER. 

1 .  True  Thomas  lay  oer  yond  grassy  bank, 

And  he  beheld  a  ladie  gay, 
A  ladie  that  was  brisk  and  bold, 
Come  riding  oer  the  fernie  brae. 

2.  Her  skirt  was  of  the  grass-green  silk, 

Her  mantle  of  the  velvet  fine, 
At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 
Hung  fifty  silver  bells  and  nine. 

3.  True  Thomas  he  took  off  his  hat 

And  bowed  him  low  down  till  his  knee  : 
'All  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Heaven  ! 
For  your  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see.' 

4.  '  O  no,  O  no,  True  Thomas,'  she  says, 

'  That  name  does  not  belong  to  me  ; 
I  am  but  the  queen  of  fair  Elfland, 
And  I  'm  come  here  for  to  visit  thee. 

5.  '  Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,'  she  said, 

'  Harp  and  carp  along  wi  me  ; 
But  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips, 
Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be.' 

6.  '  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 

That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me  ; '  — 
Syne  he  has  kissed  her  rosy  lips 
All  underneath  the  Eildon  Tree. 


BALLADS.  291 

7.  '  But  ye  maun  go  wi  me  now,  Thomas, 

True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi  me, 
For  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years, 

Thro  weel  or  wae  as  may  chance  to  be.' 

8.  She  turned  about  her  milk-white  steed, 

And  took  True  Thomas  up  behind, 
And  aye  when  eer  her  bridle  rang, 
The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind. 

9.  For  forty  days  and  forty  nights 

He  wade  thro  red  blude  to  the  knee, 
And  he  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon, 
But  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

10.  O  they  rade  on  and  further  on, 

Until  they  came  to  a  garden  green  : 
1  Light  down,  light  down,  ye  ladie  free, 
Some  of  that  fruit  let  me  pull  to  thee.' 

11.  'O  no,  O  no,  True  Thomas,'  she  says, 

'  That  fruit  maun  not  be  touched  by  thee, 
For  a'  the  plagues  that  are  in  hell 
Light  on  the  fruit  of  this  countrie. 

12.  '  But  I  have  a  loaf  here  in  my  lap, 

Likewise  a  bottle  of  claret  wine, 
And  here  ere  we  go  farther  on, 

We  '11  rest  a  while,  and  ye  may  dine.' 

13.  When  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  his  fill, 

'Lay  down  your  head  upon  my  knee,' 
The  lady  sayd,  'ere  we  climb  yon  hill, 
And  I  will  show  you  ferlies  three. 


292  BALLADS. 

14.  '  O  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  road, 

So  thick  beset  wi  thorns  and  briers  ? 
That  is  the  path  of  righteousness, 
Tho  after  it  but  few  enquires. 

15.  'And  see  not  ye  that  braid  braid  road, 

That  lies  across  yon  lillie  leven  ? 
That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Tho  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 

1 6.  'And  see  ye  not  that  bonny  road, 

Which  winds  about  the  fernie  brae  ? 
That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  you  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

17.  '  But  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue, 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see, 
For  gin  ae  word  you  should  chance  to  speak, 
You  will  neer  get  back  to  your  ain  countrie. 

1 8.  He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 

And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  velvet  green, 
And  till  seven  years  were  past  and  gone 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen. 


BALLADS.  293 


THE   WEE   WEE   MAN. 

1.  As  I  was  wa'king  all  alone, 

Between  a  water  and  a  wa, 
And  there  I  spy'd  a  wee  wee  man, 
And  he  was  the  least  that  ere  I  saw. 

2.  His  legs  were  scarce  a  shathmont's  length, 

And  thick  and  thimber  was  his  thigh  ; 
Between 'his  brows  there  was  a  span, 

And  between  his  shoulders  there  was  three. 

3.  He  took  up  a  meikle  stane, 

And  he  flang  't  as  far  as  I  could  see  ; 
Though  I  had  been  a  Wallace  wight, 
I  couldna  liften  't  to  my  knee. 

4.  '  O  wee  wee  man,  but  thou  be  strang  ! 

O  tell  me  where  thy  dwelling  be  ? ' 
'  My  dwelling 's  down  at  yon  bonny  bower  ; 
O  will  you  go  with  me  and  see  ? ' 

5.  On  we  lap,  and  awa  we  rade, 

Till  we  came  to  yon  bonny  green  ; 
We  lighted  down  for  to  bait  our  horse, 
And  out  there  came  a  lady  fine. 

6.  Four  and  twenty  at  her  back, 

And  they  were  a'  clad  out  in  green  ; 
Though  the  King  of  Scotland  had  been  there, 
The  warst  o'  them  might  hae  been  his  queen. 


294  BALLADS.  , 

7.  On  we  lap,  and  awa  we  rade, 

Till  we  came  to  yon  bonny  ha, 
Whare  the  roof  was  o  the  beaten  gould, 
And  the  floor  was  o  the  cristal  a'. 

8.  When  we  came  to  the  stair-foot, 

Ladies  were  dancing,  jimp  and  sma, 
But  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
My  wee  wee  man  was  clean  awa. 


BALLADS.  295 


ST.   STEPHEN    AND    HEROD. 

1.  Seynt   Stevene    was    a    clerk  in    Kyng    Herowdes 

halle, 

And  servyd  him  of  bred  and  cloth,  as  every  kyng 
befalle. 

2.  Stevyn   out  of  kechone   cam,   wyth  boris    hed    on 

honde ; 

He  saw  a  sterre  was  fayr  and  brygt  over  Bedlem 
stonde. 

3.  He  kyst  adoun  the  boris  hed  and  went  in  to  the 

halle  : 
'  I  forsak  the,  Kyng  Herowdes,  and  thi  werkes  alle. 

4.  '  I  forsak  the,  Kyng  Herowdes,  and  thi  werkes  alle ; 
Ther  is  a  chyld  in  Bedlem  born  is  beter  than  we 

alle.' 

5.  '  What  eylyt  the,  Stevene  ?     What  is  the  befalle  ? 
Lakkyt  the  eyther  mete  or  drynk  in  Kyng  Herowdes 

halle  ? ' 

6.  '  Lakit  me  neyther  mete  nor  drynk  in  Kyng  Herowdes 

halle; 
Ther  is  a  chyld  in  Bedlem  born  is  beter  than  we 

•    alle.' 

7.  'What   eylyt    the,    Stevyn?     Art  thu  wod,   or   thu 

gynnyst  to  brede  ? 
Lakkyt  the  eyther  gold  or  fe,  or  ony  ryche  wede  ? ' 


296  BALLADS. 

8.  '  Lakyt  me  neyther  gold  ne  fe,  ne  non  ryche  wede  ; 
Ther  is  a  chyld  in  Bedlem  born  sal  helpyn  us  at  our 

nede.' 

9.  '  That  is  al  so  soth,  Stevyn,  al  so  soth,  iwys, 

As  this  capoun  crowe  sal  that  lyth  here  in  myn 
dysh.' 

ro.     That  word  was  not  so  sone  seyd,  that  word  in  that 

halle, 

The    capoun    crew    Cristus   natus   est !  among   the 
lordes  alle. 

11.  '  Rysyt  up,  myn  turmentowres,  be  to  and  al  be  on, 
And  ledyt  Stevyn  out  of  this  toun,  and  stonyt  hym 

wyth  ston  ! ' 

12.  Tokyn  he  Stevene,  and  stonyd  hym  in  the  way, 
And  therfore  is  his  evyn  on  Crystes  owyn  day. 


APPENDIX   I. 


THE   BALLADS   OF   EUROPE. 

Narrative  songs  were  known  to  the  ancient  Germans  and  along 
with  choral  hymns  formed  the  chief  part  of  their  poetry :  Tacitus, 
Germ.  2  ;  Ann.  ii,  88 ;  iv,  47  ;  Hist,  ii,  22  ;  iv,  i§  ;  v,  15.  Jordanes, 
de  Origine  Actibusque  Getarum,  c.  4,  says  that  the  migration  of  the 
Goths  "  in  priscis  eprum  carminibus  pene  storico  ritu  in  commune 
recolitur";  and  again,  c.  5,  "cantu  majorum  facta  modulationibus 
citharisque  canebant."  Many  other  passages  could  be  quoted  to 
the  same  effect.  In  the  seventh  century,  among  the  Franks,  we 
have  an  example  of  events  passing  directly  into  song  :  See  Vita  S. 
Faronis  in  Mabillon,  Acta  Sanctorum  ord.  S.  Bened.,  Venetis,  1733, 
II,  590,  with  introductory  words  quoted  above,  p.  Ixxix;  after  the  song 
(given  in  Latin),  the  historian  says  in  apology  :  "  hoc  enim  rustico 
carmine  placuit  ostendere,  quantum  ab  omnibus  celeberrimus  habe- 
batur."  Famous  is  Charlemagne's  love  of  these  songs  :  "  barbara 
et  antiquissima  carmina  quibus  veterum  act  us  et  bella  canebantur 
scripsit  memoriaeque  mandavit,"  Vita  Karoli,  c.  29 ;  and  much  the 
same  is  told  later  of  English  Alfred  :  "  sed  Saxonica  poemata  "  - 
ballads,  one  hopes  —  "  saepissime  audiens,"  and  of  his  children : 
"  maxime  Saxonica  carmina  studiose  didicere,"  Asser  de  Aelfredi 
rebus  gestis,  ed.  1603,  Frankfort,  pp.  5,  13.  What  these  carmina 
were  is  a  parlous  question  ;  but  perhaps  we  are  not  to  think  simply 
of  poems  like  the  later  "  Maldon."  Aldhelm  was  fond  of  ballads  ; 
he  made  songs  which  were  still  known  in  Alfred's  time,  —  a  fragile 
prop  for  the  modern  rationalist,  —  and  better  yet,  he  stood  on  that 
famous  bridge  and  sang  the  recalcitrant  people,  somewhat  like  him 
of  Hamelin,  sheer  into  church,  such  was  his  peritia  cauendi,  and  such 
the  power  of  the  ballad  !  See  Mabillon,  Act.  S.  ord.  S.  Bened.,  Ill, 
224.  Here,  however,  one  suspects  artistry :  these  were  hardly 
Bulgaria  carmina.  One  must  not  omit  Cnut's  song:  "Cantilenam 
his  verbis  Anglice  composuit,"  says  the  chronicle,  Historia  Eliensis, 
II,  27,  in  Gale,  Hist.  Script.,  I,  505  ;  but  after  giving  the  well-known 


298  APPENDIX  I. 

verses,  it  adds :  "  et  caetera  quae  sequuntur,  quae  usque  hodie  in 
choris  publice  cantantur  et  in  proverbiis  memorantur,"  so  that  Cnut 
probably  had  as  much  to  do  with  his  song  as  Alfred  had  with  those 
proverbs  which  are  stamped  with  the  earlier  royalty.  Hereward  the 
Wake  had  ballads  sung  about  him  :  "  ejusque  gesta  fortia  etiam 
Angliam  ingressa  canerentur ; "  and  again  :  "  ingenta  praelia  et 
mille  pericula  .  .  .  prout  adhuc  in  triviis  canuntttr."  See  Ingulf  h. 
Hist.  Croyland.,  in  Michel's  Chron.  Norm.  II,  vf.;  though  this 
particular  document  is  a  forgery,  and  belongs  some  two  centuries 
after  the  events,  the  statement  about  ballads  has  a  definite  value. 
The  chronicling  ballads  were  used  by  early  historians  of  England, 
even  by  the  critical  and  careful  William  of  Malmesbury.  Thus  far, 
he  says  in  his  second  book  (Gest.  Reg.  Angl.,  ed.  Stubbs,  I,  155),  he 
has  written  upon  trustworthy  evidence:  "sequentia  magis  cantilenis 
per  successiones  temporum  detritis,  quam  libris  ad  instructiones 
posteriorum  elucubratis,  didicerim."  —  See  also  same  edition,  I,  165; 
and  for  the  reports  spread  in  ballads  about  the  return  of  Arthur, 
II,  342.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  poets  like  Layamon  and  the 
author  of  "  King  Horn  "  owed  much  to  ballads  :  see  Wiilcker,  Ueb. 
d.  Quellen  Layamons,  Paul-Braune,  Beitrage,  III,  524  ff.;  Wissmann, 
Untersuchungen  zn  King  Horn,  p.  58.  With  the  thirteenth 
century,  ballads  come  even  more  into  prominence  as  affecting  the 
style  of  other  poems:  see  ten  Brink,  Gesch.  d.  engl.  Lit.,  I,  381  f., 
421,  who  thinks,  moreover,  that  the  refrain  'Blow,  northerne 
wynd '  is  popular,  and  not  the  work  of  the  poet  in  whose  lyric 
it  is  preserved. 

Such  —  and  the  list  could  be  greatly  enlarged  —  are  some  of  the 
references  which  prove  that  ballads  were  made  and  sung  from  the 
earliest  historical  periods  of  the  Germanic  race  down  through 
the  middle  ages.  Unfortunately,  we  find  nothing  which  enables 
us  to  say  just  what  these  ballads  were.  The  powers  of  the  church 
were  doing  their  best  to  suppress  such  poetry,  mainly  because  of  its 
heathen  origins,  but  here  and  there  for  moral  reasons.  Hence,  too, 
it  failed  to  be  recorded.  From  this  time,  however,  —  that  is,  for 
England  from  the  thirteenth  century,  and  earlier  elsewhere,  —  we 
begin  to  meet  actual  specimens  of  the  poem  which  we  know  as  the 
narrative  ballad.  The  Germanic  ballad,  "  which  is  not  preserved  in 
its  original  form  or  original  extent "  (see  Grundtvig,  Introduction  to 
Rosa  Warrens,  Ddnische  Volkslieder,  for  this  and  immediately 
following  quotations),  can  be  traced  in  Denmark,  Norway,  Sweden, 
Iceland,  the  Faroe  Islands,  Scotland,  England,  Netherlands  and 


APPENDIX  I.  299 

Germany.  "  Almost  every  Norwegian,  Swedish  or  Icelandic  ballad 
is  found  in  a  Danish  version.  Of  Scandinavian  ballads,  moreover, 
a  larger  number  can  be  found  in  English  and  Scottish  versions  than 
in  German  or  Dutch  versions."  England  and  Scotland  preserved 
none  of  the  old  heroic  lays  (kampeviser)  which  are  so  plentiful  in 
Scandinavia,  and  which  in  Germany,  though  unknown  to  the  ballad, 
have  been  worked  into  the  national  epic  (Grundtvig,  p.  xxix).  Again, 
while  the  British  Isles  have  kept  little  of  a  mythic  character,  and 
Germany  nothing  at  all,  Scandinavia  is  very  rich  in  this  respect. 
So  far  as  oral  tradition  goes,  the  Faroe  islanders  and  the  Norwegians 
have  preserved  the  oldest  and  the  most  genuine  versions  of  the 
Germanic  ballad  ;  but  Denmark  has  manuscripts  of  ballads  three 
or  four  hundred  years  old.  Grundtvig  divides  the  subject-matter 
of  Danish  ballads  (see  his  noble  collection,  Danmarks  Gamle  Folke- 
viser,  5  vols.,  incomplete,  Copenhagen,  1853,  ff.)  into  (i)  Heroic 
Ballads,  (2)  Ballads  of  Myth  and  Enchantment,  (3)  Historic  Ballads, 
(4)  Ballads  of  Chivalry  ;  and  he  puts  the  probable  date  of  composi- 
tion for  the  first  class  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  for  the 
mythological  class  as  early  as  the  eleventh  century. 

As  regards  England,  Professor  Child  assigns  the  origin  of  the 
Robin  Hood  ballads  to  the  thirteenth  century,  and  with  them 
probably  belongs  Hugh  of  Lincoln.  The  Battle  of  Otterburn,  1388, 
gives  us  a  certain  date,  "  from  which  time  we  have  a  succession  of 
ballads  founded  on  ascertained  events  down  to  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century  "  (Child,  in  Johnson's  Cyclopadia}.  The  most 
important  sources  of  our  ballads,  besides  such  printed  pieces  as 
The  Gest  of  Robin  Hood  (about  1489),  are  the  Percy  Manuscript, 
"written  just  before  1650,"  and  "the  oral  tradition  of  Scotland" 
during  "  the  last  130  years"  (Child).  This  brings  us  to  the  earliest 
collections,  especially  Bishop  Percy  and  his  famous  Rcliques. 

Percy  was  more  collector  than  critic,  and  even  his  enthusiasm 
was  dampened  by  the  sneers  of  Dr.  Johnson.  Dr.  Johnson,  how- 
ever, appears  to  have  given  Percy  some  help  about  the  ballads. 
Boswell's  Johnson,  ed.  Dr.  G.  B.  Hill,  III,  314,  note,  quotes 
Cradock's  Memoirs:  "Almost  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  Johnson, 
he  said  to  me :  '  Notwithstanding  all  the  pains  Dr.  Farmer  and  I 
took  to  serve  Dr.  Percy  in  regard  to  his  Ancient  Ballads,  he  has  left 
town  for  Ireland  without  taking  leave  of  either  of  us.' "  Among  his 
undoubted  and  enthusiastic  helpers,  Percy  counted  "the  elegant 
Mr.  Shenstone,"  Grainger,  Garrick,  Warton,  and  even  Goldsmith. 
At  one  time,  if  we  may  believe  report,  six  amanuenses  were  busy 


300  APPENDIX  I. 

copying  ballads  for  Percy  from  the  Pepys  collection  at  Cambridge  ; 
and  he  had  correspondents  "  in  Wales,  in  the  wilds  of  Staffordshire 
and  Derbyshire,  in  the  West  Indies,  and  in  Ireland."  Thus  the 
famous  folio  was  not  sole  basis  of  the  Reliques.  This  book  appeared 
in  1765;  a  fourth  edition,  "improved,"  in  1794.  Good  modern 
editions  are  H.  B.  Wheatley,  3  vols.,  London,  1876-77,  and 
A.  Schroer,  Heilbronn,  1889,  ff.  The  Folio,  after  long  seclusion, 
was  edited  by  Hales  and  Furnivall,  4  vols.,  1867-68.  The  Reliques 
owed  little  to  predecessors.  Besides  "  Garlands  "  and  random  collec- 
tions (see  Brandl,  in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  8441?.),  we  note  Dryden 
printing  "  Chevy  Chase,"  "  Johnie  Armstrong,"  and  other  ballads,  in 
his  Miscellany  Poems  (1684,  and  continued  after  Dryden's  death  till 
1708).  The  first  distinct  collection  of  ballads  printed  in  English 
appeared  1723,  1724,  1727,  with  an  editor  anonymous,  but  inspired 
by  Addison's  praise  of  "  Chevy  Chase,"  and  timorous  and  bold  by 
turns.  The  Reliques,  however,  really  heads  the  list  of  ballad  collec- 
tions in  England  ;  it  may  be  noted  that  Denmark  and  Spain  had 
each  made  collections  of  ballads  in  the  sixteenth  century. 

It  was  when  "  very  young "  that  Percy  found  his  folio  ;  "  sadly 
torn,"  it  was  "lying  dirty  on  the  floor"  of  Humphrey  Pitt,  Esq., 
whose  maids  had  used  it  to  light  fires  (see  Hales  and  Furnivall, 
Folio,  II,  xx).  Percy  scribbled  on  this  manuscript  and  tore  out 
leaves  for  the  printer,  thus  depriving  us  of  all  control  over  "  King 
Estmere  "  ;  but  his  greatest  sin  was  lack  of  fidelity  to  the  text.  Out 
of  39  lines  of  "  The  Childe  of  Elle  "  he  made  200  lines  in  his  book. 
Since  the  Reliques,  many  collections  have  appeared:  see  Professor 
Child  in  Johnson's  Cyclopedia,  and  the  Bibliography  of  his  earlier 
edition  (1860)  of  Ballads,  I,  xiii  ff.  The  forthcoming  tenth  and 
final  part  of  his  new  collection  ( The  English  and  Scottish  Popular 
Ballads,  Boston,  8  Parts,  1882-1892),  "will  contain  a  full  bibliog- 
raphy." In  a  way,  this  noble  work  makes  all  earlier  collections 
superfluous ;  but  we  may  mention  Herd's  Ancient  and  Modern 
Scottish  Songs,  1769,  1776,  distinguished  for  fidelity  and  accuracy 
in  regard  to  sources  ;  Ritson's  Ancient  Songs,  1790,  but  not  brought 
out  till  1792,  Robin  Hood,  1795,  an(^  other  collections ;  Scott's 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  3  vols.,  1802-3,  with  later  editions, 
mainly  traditional  and  containing  much  that  was  new  ;  and  Mother- 
well's  Minstrelsy,  Ancient  and  Modern,  1827.  Some  critical  remarks 
by  Lemcke  on  these  collections  will  be  found  in  the  Jahrbuch  f.  rom. 
u.  engl.  Lit.,  IV,  I  ff.,  I42ff.,  297  ff. 

We  can  give  but  a  hasty  glance  at  the  ballads  of  other  nations. 
Ballads  have  been  pointed  out  in  the  Bible  :  Numbers,  xxi,  i"jj  where 


APPENDIX  I.  301 

"  Israel  sang  this  song,"  for  example.  The  primitive  Aryans  must 
have  had  ballads  along  with  the  other  heavy  responsibilities  laid  upon 
them ;  but  this  is  to  consider  too  curiously  :  see  Meyer,  Haupt's 
Zts.,  XXIX,  235.  The  battle  over  ballads  and  the  Greek  Epos  is 
still  raging,  and  need  not  be  approached  ;  but  Modern  Greek  ballads 
are  deservedly  famous.  Ballads  may  well  have  formed  the  basis  of 
early  Roman  history  as  we  read  it  in  Livy,  but  did  not,  as  Niebuhr 
thought,  furnish  the  substance:  Niebuhr,  Hist.  Rome,  transl.,  London, 
1855,  I,  254  ff.,  and  Macaulay,  preface  to  the  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome. 
Apparent  references  to  Roman  ballads  are :  Cicero,  Tusc.  iv,  2,  3, 
Brutus,  xviii,  xix  ;  and  Horace,  Carm.  iv,  15,  25. Spanish  bal- 
lads rank  high,  and  received  early  notice.  In  modern  times,  it  was 
Herder  who  called  attention  to  them  :  see  F.  Wolf's  elaborate 
article,  Wiener  Jahrbiicher,  CXIV,  i  ff.,  and  CXVII,  82  ff.  First 
printed  in  broadsides,  they  were  collected  about  1550  in  a  volume, 
partly  from  the  broadsides,  partly  from  oral  tradition.  Their  origin 
is  referred  to  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  but  they  cannot  be 
traced  earlier  than  the  fifteenth.  —  For  Italian  ballads  one  may  find  a 
good  summary  of  facts  in  the  introduction  to  Nigra's  Canti  Popolari 
del  Piemonte.  —  France  was  almost  the  last  nation  to  take  up  the 
study  of  ballads  ;  Villemarque  was  a  pioneer  in  the  movement. 
See  Crane,  Introduction  to  Chansons  Populaires  de  France,  New 
York,  1891  ;  Tiersot,  Histoire  de  la  Chanson  Populaire  en  France, 
Paris,  1889  ;  and  Jeanroy,  Les  Origines  de  la  Poesie  Lyrique  en  France 
au  May  en-Age,  same  place  and  date. —  The  German  revival  has  been 
considered  in  detail  above  ;  Uhland,  Alte  Hoch-  und  Niederdetitsche 
Volkslieder,  2  vols.,  Stuttgart,  1844-45,  al°ng  with  the  Abhandlungen, 
published  after  the  author's  death,  may  be  noted  for  older  times,  and 
Bb'hme,  Altdeutsches  Liederbuch,  Leipzig,  1877,  for  the  new.  —  For 
the  ballads  of  the  Netherlands  much  was  done  by  the  German  Hoff- 
mann von  Fallersleben  :  see  his  Niederldndische  Volkslieder,  2nd.  ed., 

Hannover,   1856. Slavonic  popular  poetry,  such  as  that  of  the 

Servians,  who  have  little  literature  save  their  ballads,  shows  a  marked 
difference  from  Germanic  poetry  of  the  same  order,  and  lacks  the 
romantic  element  of  the  latter.  J.  Grimm  was  interested  in  Servian 
ballads,  and  reviewed  a  collection  of  them  with  considerable  praise. 
—  An  account  of  the  collecting  of  such  poetry  among  the  Russians 
is  given  by  Ralston,  Songs  of  the  Russian  People,  pp.  63-76.  —  But 
no  collecting  was  ever  done  so  zealously  as  among  the  Finns  and 
Esthonians :  see  La  Tradition  (Paris,  1889),  III,  237  f.  Between 
1871  and  1880  the  Society  for  Esthonian  Folk  Lore  received  7300 


302  APPENDIX  I. 

"chansons";  one  woman  alone  recited  700  songs.  Later,  in  response 
to  another  appeal,  the  peasants  sent  in  this  almost  incredible  har- 
vest:  "8532  vielles  chansons,  1131  contes,  7963  proverbes,  8457 
enigmes," — evidence  of  a  marvelous  if  not  suspicious  fertility.  A 
collector  in  the  grand  style  was  "  J.  Hurt,  traditionniste  esthonien !" 
The  Finns  had  an  old  reputation  for  magic  and  incantations.  Ran- 
dom collections  of  their  forms  of  exorcism,  and  the  like,  were  made 
as  early  as  1640  :  see  Krohn,  La  Tradition,  IV,  45  ff.  In  1841  Cas- 
tren  brought  out  the  Kalevala.  In  1854  the  Society  for  Finnish 
Literature  began  to  look  after  popular  melodies,  and  sent  out  three 
musicians  to  collect  them.  These  investigated  the  original  songs  of 
the  Kalevala,  and  gathered  a  few  more  "  chants  epiques." 


APPENDIX   II. 


METRE,  STYLE,  AND   FORM. 

Two  absolute  conditions  of  English  ballads,  so  far  as  form  is  con- 
cerned, are  the  stanza  and  rime.  Instead  of  continuous  epic  verse, 
one  finds  a  stanza  made  up  of  two  verses.  This  stanza  may  be  a 
couplet  with  verses  of  four  accents  each,  —  apparently  the  oldest 
form  (Steenstrup,  Vore  Folkeviser,  p.  120),  or  else  there  are  two  long 
verses  of  seven  accents  each,  which  are  so  divided,  occasionally  with 
middle  rime,  that  a  four-line  stanza  is  the  result,  with  first  and  third 
line  of  four  accents,  and  second  and  fourth  of  three.  Brandl,  Paul's 
Gmndriss,  II,  i,  840,  recognizes  no  English  ballads  which  are  not  in 
one  of  these  two  stanzas.  Of  course,  occasional  overflow  occurs, 
with  resulting  stanza  of  six  lines  :  see  Otterburn,  Cheviot,  Johnie 
Cock,  Sir  Hugh,  Child  Waters ;  but  the  typical  stanza,  if  not  a 
couplet,  has  four  lines.  This  four-line  stanza  is  itself  the  old  sep- 
tenarhis  couplet  with  a  new  division  ;  but  we  are  not  to  discuss  the 
difficult  question  of  metrical  origin  :  see  Schipper,  Englische  Metrik, 
I,  89,  349,  and  in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  1048  ;  Brandl,  ibid.,  II,  i, 
658 :  "  das  zersungene  septenarpar  der  sachsischen  epiker "  ;  and 
compare  that  popular  elegy,  composed  about  1 200,  the  Poema  Morale. 
The  prevailing  view  is  that  the  metrical  scheme  came  from  the 
Latin  hymns  of  the  church,  and  the  irregularities  of  practice  from 
influence  of  older  native  verse  (Brandl)  ;  but  there  are  difficulties 
even  in  this  simple  assumption.  For  example,  the  septenarius  was 
not  used  in  England  until  the  twelfth  century,  and  it  is  absurd  to 
suppose  that  England  had  no  ballads  until  that  date.  In  what 
metre  were  the  earlier  ballads  ?  Miillenhoff,  Sagen,  Lieder,  u.  s.  w., 
p.  xiii,  says  that  in  Germany  the  old  alliterative  verse  died  a  natural 
death,  so  that  in  the  course  of  the  tenth  century  popular  poetry  had 
to  take  up  rime.  In  England,  however,  alliterative  poetry  was  not 
at  all  dead  when  the  ballad-metre  began.  There  is  a  possibility  that 
these  popular  metres,  like  the  refrain,  which  came  out  of  the  church 
to  the  people,  had  previously  gone  out  of  the  people  into  the  church; 
and  we  may  thus  think  of  a  continuity  in  metre  from  older  ballads  : 


304  APPENDIX  II. 

see  Luick  in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  997.  The  stanza  certainly  seems 
a  necessity  in  ballads,  and  hence  we  are  not  to  look  to  the  older 
recited  and  continuous  verse  of  Anglo-Saxon  records.  We  have 
seen  that  there  is  the  same  metrical  gap  in  the  case  of  Scandinavian 
ballads  and  the  older  poetry:  Steenstrup,  Vore  Folkeviser,  p.  123  f., 
322,  and  Lundell  in  Paul's  Grundriss,  II,  i,  728  f. 

Secondly,  all  our  ballads  employ  rime  in  its  modern  sense.  Initial 
rime,  or  alliteration,  affected  the  verse;  end-rime  concerns  the  stanza: 
see  Schipper,  Engl.  Aletr.,  I,  83  f.,  309  f.  Indeed,  rime  marks  nearly 
all  ballad-poetry  known  to  us,  Germanic,  Celtic  and  Romance  (Wolf, 
Lais,  p.  162) ;  for  the  regular  assonance  in  place  of  rime,  found  in 
Spanish  ballads,  is  not  original,  but  was  once  a  matter  of  chance,  as 
in  English,  becoming  normal  in  the  sixteenth  century :  Wolf, 
Romanzenpoesie  d.  Spanier,  Wiener  Jahrb.,  CXVII,  H2f.,  121.  In 
our  English  ballads  we  note  considerable  assonance,  but  always  as  a 
license.  Such  are:  have-drawe,  Monk,  9;  taen-hame,  J.  Cock,  3; 
came-belong,  Bart.,  19  ;  marke-heart,  ibid.,  63  ;  stane-in,  Sisters,  8  ; 
yard-there,  2  Bro.,  5;  grasse-Maurice,  Maur.,  6;  age-side,  Brand,  2; 
gate-it,  ibid.,  28;  fast-burst,  C.  Waters,  13;  hand-Hunting,  Hunt.,  ii; 
lefe-tethe,  Gest,  225;  sweet-sleep,  J.  Cock,  9,  and  very  common;  red- 
bride,  Cruel  Br.,  2;  deed-me,  Babylon,  17;  men-hame,  F.  Annie,  20; 
lyne-meane,  Guy,  2;  thinge-behynde,  ibid.,  9;  stye-lynde,  Monk,  76; 
king-queen,  Cruel  Br.,  5  ;  white-alike,  Armstr.,  2  ;  din-men,  Brackley, 
7;  iwys-dysh,  Stephen,  9 ;  Hode-stout,  Gest,  355;  Hood-golde,  Guy, 
25  (good  rime?);  grone-slayne,  Otterb.,  57;  stone-man,  Maur.,  7; 
more-fall,  Bart.,  55 ;  home-toun,  Car,  6 ;  gone-burn,  Brack.,  26 ; 
gone-kind,  W.  Lady,  5;  son-in,  2  Sist.,  16;  John-ring,  2  Bro.,  9;  on- 
maiden,  Colven,  4 ;  bord-beard,  Estmere,  49 ;  bold-child,  Lin,  32 ; 
town-again,  Bewick,  23;  cup-about,  W.  Lady,  6;  fly-play,  Brack.,  10. 
Often  the  assonance  is  only  a  matter  of  spelling :  gun-in,  Brack.,  14; 
son-man,  Randal,  i  ;  and  perhaps  Hood-golde,  Guy,  25.  Feminine 
assonance  is  rare,  as  are  indeed  feminine  rimes  :  gallowe-arrowe, 
Guy,  18;  playin-dawin,  Brack.,  i ;  lasses-rashes,  B.  B.  and  M.  G.,  i  ; 
middle-girdle,  2  Sist.,  ii;  adder-father  (?),  Lin,  31.  Utter  lack  of 
rime  occurs :  see  especially  IVillie^s  Lady,  and  also,  face-night, 
Hunting,  2 ;  to-day-quite,  Car,  20,  may  be  remedied  by  adding 
"  away."  "  Perfect  rime  "  is  rare  :  get-forget,  Gest,  175 ;  he-he,  Bewick, 
43;  alle-alle,  Stephen,  4;  wood-wood,  Maur.,  18 ;  well-well  (with 
different  meanings,  as  in  Chaucer),  Usher,  7;  him-him,  Sweet  Wm., 
ii  ;  Mahound-hound,  Estmere,  13. 

The  rime  falls  usually  on  the  second  and  fourth  verses  only  :  a,  b, 
c,  b  ;  but  a,  b,  a,  b,  is  fairly  frequent.  About  half  of  The  Hunting  of 


APPENDIX  II.  305 

the  Cheviot  has  the  latter  form,  and  it  occurs  elsewhere  sporadically. 
Rime  within  the  verse  itself  is  less  frequent :  Earl  Brand,  9 ;  Gest, 
354;  Otterburn,  2,  40,  48;  J.  Cock,  3,  18;  often  in  Sir  Andrew  Bar- 
ton ;  and  rarely  in  other  ballads.  On  the  whole,  the  ballads  are  not 
rich  in  variety  of  rime ;  see  particularly  Bewick  arid  Grahame,  where 
he,  me,  be,  thee,  stand,  land,  and  the  like,  must  do  yeoman  service. 

Initial  rime,  or  so-called  alliteration,  is  always  an  adornment,  and 
never  a  principle  or  stay  of  the  metre  ;  at  least,  it  never  takes  the 
place  of  rime.  It  is  much  more  frequent  in  the  older  than  in  the 
later  ballads  :  see  Monk,  Guy,  Otterburn,  Cheviot,  and  parts  of  the 
Gest;  for  general  examples,  Monk,  i;  Otterburn,  14;  Cheviot,  6. 
Alliteration  occasionally  connects  verses  :  Gtiy,  3  1-2  ;  163-4;  Monk, 
291-2;  Otterburn,  503-4;  Cheviot,  313-4;  321-2;  663-4;  68 '-2 ; 
Cock,  5  3-4 ;  Car,  4  '-2  ;  Campbell,  5  3~4 ;  and  elsewhere.  Bewick  and 

Grahame  shows  a  tendency  to  this  connection  :  12,  13,  14,  34. 

Again,  Alliterating  Phrases  are  very  common  :  bete  and  bynde, 
Gest,  12;  buske  and  brome,  Monk,  12;  browght  in  bale,  ibid,,  51  ; 
bear  your  bowe,  Death,  6 ;  a  berne  upon  the  bent,  Oft.,  5 ;  to  batell 
make  you  boune,  ibid.,  28 ;  busk  and  boun,  Cock,  2,  and  often ;  blyth 
as  birds,  Armstr.,  5  ;  Lin,  39;  bigget  a  bower,  B.  B.  M.  G.,  i ;  big 
wi  bairn,  F.  Mary,  4;  barn  and  byre,  Usher,  12;  banke-to  brim,  C. 
Waters,  14;  bed  and  board,  Janet,  3;  brisk  and  bold,  Rymer,  i  ; 
blood  and  bone,  Cheviot,  3 ;  Kith  nor  kin,  Guy,  36 ;  of  comfort  that 
was  not  colde,  Ott.,  5 ;  cawte  and  kene,  ibid.,  26 ;  carpe  of  care, 
Cheviot,  58  ;  caste  [the]  kevels,  Robyn,  2 ;  cups  and  cans,  F.  Mary, 
20  ;  kaims  o  care;  IV.  Lady,  35  ;  cheek  and  chin,  Janet,  12  ;  Dale 
and  doune,  Guy,  20 ;  dye  before  his  day,  ibid.,  39 ;  dawnynge  of  the 
day,  Ott.,  20 ;  to  deth  was  dyght,  Cheviot,  40 ;  dule  ye  drie,  Edward, 
3 ;  A  fote  would  flee,  Ott.,  61 ;  fyght  in  a  fylde,  Cheviot,  23 ;  fight  or 
flee,  Car,  24;  fetters  o  his  feet,  Y.  Waters,  10;  fashes  in  the  flood, 
Usher,  4 ;  fame  of  fight,  Estmere,  39 ;  fat  fadge  by  the  fire,  Lord 
Thomas,  8 ;  Goune  of  greene,  Guy,  44 ;  gravell  and  .  .  .  greete, 
Death,  26;  glytteryde  as  did  a  gleed,  Cheviot,  14;  gets  no  gaine, 
Barton,  57;  green  as  ...  glass,  Lin,  10;  greene  as  ...  grass, 
Maur.,  7;  gowd  and  gear,  Fair  A.,  i ;  girdle  of  gold,  C.  Waters,  2  ; 
Hart  nor  hand,  Cheviot,  1 1  ;  harpe  in  hand,  Estmere,  40  ;  by  halke 
and  eke  by  hill,  Gest,  366;  houndes  and  horn,  ibid.,  182;  horse  and 
harness,  Armstr.,  2  ;  Lothe  or  lefe,  Gest,  225  ;  leaves  of  lyne,  Guy, 
22 ;  leaned  under  a  lowe,  ibid.,  46  ;  light  as  lef  on  lynde,  Monk,  76  ; 
lord  of  land,  Cheviot,  1 9  ;  lord  nor  loune,  Car,  1 3  ;  ly var  and  longes, 
Cheviot,  37  ;  laird  nor  lord,  Y.  Waters,  8  ;  lie  your  lane,  Fair  A.,  i  ; 


306  APPENDIX  II. 

lands  and  livings,  Barton,  78;  large  and  long,  Armstr.,  4;  Mete  and 
mele,  Gest,  384;  might  and  main,  Guy,  14;  mother  and  may,  ibid., 
39;  mornynge  of  May,  Monk,  5;  mas  nor  matyns,  ibid.,  6  ;  man  of 
might,  Off.,  52;  male  and  myneyple,  Cheviot,  30;  mickle  of  might, 
Barton,  5;  misse  my  mark,  ibid.,  13  ;  maid  o  the  mill,  Brack.,  19; 
moss  and  moor,  Brand,  6;  make  her  moan,  C.  Waters,  33  ;  meek 
and  mild,  Lin,  13;  Nicked  him  [of]  nay,  Estmere,  12;  Robbe  and 
reve,  Gest,  12;  reken  with  .  .  .  reves,  ibid.,  254;  redy  on  a  rowe,  ibid., 
448;  reacheless  on  a  root,  Guy,  38;  roke  ...  in  the  rayne,  Off.,  51 ; 
rede  full  ryght,  ibid.,  53 ;  rynde  and  rent,  ibid.,  42 ;  Seker  and  sad, 
Gest,  215;  sad  and  sar,  Cheviot,  46;  sayle  the  sea,  Barton,  37;  sail 
this  ship,  Spens,  i;  save  and  see,  Maur.,  10,  and  often;  sark  o  silk, 
Colven,  5;  slaine  in  a  slade,  Guy,  24;  sichin  and  sobbin,  Brack.,  19; 
sistar's  son,  Cheviot,  55;  for  soth  as  I  yow  sey,  Monk,  27,  and  often; 
for  soth  and  sertenly,  Off.,  59;  stand  you  still,  Guy,  8;  stay  and 
stand,  Barton,  18 ;  stiffly  in  stoure  can  stand,  Off.,  58 ;  stiffly  she 
stode,  Car,  1 2 ;  styffe  and  strong,  Gest,  437;  styll  and  stalworthlye, 
Off.,  6;  still  as  any  stone,  Monk,  31  ;  stout  and  stalwart,  Usher,  i; 
stockes  and  stone,  Guy,  13;  strete  and  stye,  Monk,  76;  strete  and 
stalle,  ibid.,  89;  styrande  many  a  stag,  Off.,  3;  spendyd  a  spear, 
Cheviot,  40;  at  supper  set,  Car,  7;  stable  thy  steed,  Estmere,  50; 
sun  was  set,  Lord  Thomas,  i ;  sweavens  are  swift,  Guy,  4;  Thick  and 
thimber,  Wee  Man,  2 ;  the  thistle  and  the  thorn,  Lady  Maisry,  1 7 ; 
telle  him  tale,  Monk,  51;  top  to  toe,  Guy,  44;  trusty  and  trewe,  Gest, 
215;  Wilful  of  my  way,  Guy,  24 ;  went  by  the  way,  Monk,  1 3 ;  wyrke 
him  woo,  ibid.,  28;  welth  in  the  worlde,  Off.,  6;  welth  at  wyll,  ibid., 
15;  world  to  winne,  Death,  10;  waken  with  wynne,  Off.,  22;  water 
from  the  well,  Usher,  7 ;  wed  a  wife,  Lord  Thomas,  2 ;  woo'd  a  wife, 
W.  Lady,  i ;  well  I  wat,  Lin,  25;  weppone  welde,  Cheviot,  23;  woo 
and  wouche,  ibid.,  26 ;  wounde  full  wyde,  ibid.,  28 ;  win[d]  and  weet, 
Lady  Maisry,  20 ;  woman's  weede,  Maur.,  32.  Not  to  prolong  the 
list  with  less  striking  cases,  we  may  further  note  the  form  of  phrase 
where  adjective  and  noun,  adverb  and  verb,  are  bound  together  by 
alliteration:  baylefulle  bronde,  Off.,  58;  bryght  bronde,  Gest,  202; 
bonny  boy,  Fair  Mary,  8  ;  bosome  braid,  ibid.,  3  ;  cherry  cheeks,  2 
Sist.,  14;  deerly  dight,  Barton,  28;  dungeon  deep,  Y.  Waters,  10; 
gowden  graithed,  ibid.,  4;  gowden  girdle,  2  Sist.,  u ;  groves  sae  green, 
Lin,  20;  hanged  hye,  Maur.,  16;  leeve  London,  ibid.,  5;  limmer  loon, 
Bewick,  15;  lilly  lee,  Fair  A.,  24;  lilly  leven,  Rymer,  13;  maidens 
mild,  Fair  Mary,  i;  ribbon  sae  red,  Brand,  14;  siller  shod,  Y.  Waters, 
4;  trusty  tree,  Cheviot,  44;  weary  wight,  W.  Lady,  n;  wondrous 
wide,  Cock,  7. 


APPENDIX  II.  307 


VERSE. 

Of  the  ballads  in  this  collection,  the  so-called  ballad-measure,  — 
four  verses,  riming  mostly  a,  b,  c,  b,  with  four  measures  or  accents  each 
for  the  first  and  third,  and  three  each  for  the  second  and  fourth,  — 
claims  all  the  Robin  Hood  ballads,  Otterburn,  The  Hunting  of  the 
Cheviot,  Johnie  Cock,  Brown  Robyn,  Spens,  Captain  Car,  Young 
Waters,  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray,  Sir  Hugh,  Twa  Brothers, 
Maurice,  Wife  of  Usher's  Well,  Fair  Margaret  and  Sivect  William, 
Young  Hunting,  Fair  Janet,  Lady  Maisry,  Lass  of  Roch  Royal, 
Willie  and  Lady  Maisry,  Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet,  Fair 
Mary  of  Livingston,  Child  Waters,  Fair  Annie,  Katharine  Jaf- 
fray,  Gay  Goshawk,  King  Estmere,  and  Tarn  Lin.  In  The  Hunt- 
ing °f  th£  Cheviot,  the  form :  40,  \b,  ^ac,  \b,  prevails  in  stanzas 
2,  40,  58,  and  others,  where  one  cannot  reduce  the  measure  by 
such  slurring  as  Schipper  recommends  (Englische  Metrik,  I,  351). 
Slurring,  of  course,  will  often  keep  the  verse  in  limits,  but  in  the 
fourth  line  of  the  stanza  overflow  is  sometimes  certain :  Gest,  224 ; 
R.  H.  Death,  2$3;  Otterburn,  69";  Cheviot,  7",  17",  4o4,  58" ;  and 
fair  Annie,  23*.  Slurring  is  evident  in  Fair  Margaret  and  Sweet 
William,  32;  Earl  Brand,  I2;  Willie  and  Lady  Maisry,  93,  and 
elsewhere  ;  but  it  is  useless  to  catalogue  minutely  all  such  varia- 
tions, and  it  must  be  remembered  that  great  license  in  number  and 
weight  of  syllables  is  one  of  the  chief  marks  of  ballad-metre.  More- 
over, we  may  right  many  a  verse  by  leaving  out  a  phrase  like  "  quoth 
the  sheriffe"  in  Guy  of  Gisborne,  2o3,  or  "he  says"  in  Cheviot,  i63. 
Another  ballad  in  this  measure,  with  interwoven  refrain,  is  Edward. 

A  second  group  of  ballads  have  the  stanza  in  four-accent  verse 
throughout.  Here  belong  Kinmont  Willie,  Johnie  Armstrong,  Sir 
Andrew  Barton,  Bewick  and  Grahame,  Clerk  Colven,  Sweet  William's 
Ghost,  Young  Beichan,  Kemp  Owyne,  Thomas  Rymer,  and  The  Wee 
Wee  Alan.  A  single  ballad  has  the  stanza  in  three-beat  verse 
throughout,  with  a  lilt  due  to  the  feminine  ending  of  the  odd  lines 
and  the  triple  measure  in  the  following  foot :  The  Bonny  Earl  of 
Murray. 

All  the  other  ballads,  except  one,  are  in  the  couplet  of  four  beats  to 
the  verse,  and  often  have  a  "  tumbling  "  effect.  They,  are  The  Three 
Ravens,  The  Twa  Sisters,  The  Cruel  Brother,  Babylon,  Earl  Brand, 
Willie's  Lady,  Hind  Horn.  Brackley  and  Lord  Randal  show 
abounding  triple  measure ;  Bonnie  George  Campbell  has  a  quite 
regular  movement  in  the  triple  measure,  with  "  dactylic "  effect. 


308  APPENDIX  II. 

Peculiar  is  the  metrical  form  of  St.  Stephen  and  Herod,  where  we 
come  closer  to  such  models  as  the  Poema  Morale ;  we  note,  how- 
ever, the  six-beat  verses  which  once  or  twice  combine  with  the 
regular  septenarius  in  something  like  "  Poulter's  Measure."  The 
verses  of  the  last  stanza  have  six  measures  each. 

The  general  movement  in  all  these  metres  is  "  iambic,"  though 
the  verse  very  often  begins  with  an  accented  syllable  :  Gest,  280 : 

God,  that  syt  in  heven  Aye, 
Graunte  us  -well  to  fare. 

Unaccented  syllables  are  frequently  omitted:  Gest,  20:  These  ye- 
men  all  three  ;  419:  Now  pray  I  thee  ;  202 :  On  my  bright  bronde  ; 
Three  Ravens,  3  :  Downe  in  yonder  greene  field  ;  Brand,  8  :  Earl 
Brand,  if  ye  love  me  ;  Gest,  44 :  The  knyght  shall  beg^nne  ;  256 : 
The  soth  must  we  see ;  294 :  Evermore  was  the  best,  For  soth, 
Robyn  Hode ;  so  also  351*,  352',  373',  3952>  4OO2,  etc.;  Monk,  20: 
Out  at  the  diirre'he  ran;  Cheviot,  n1 ;  Sir  A.  Barton,  433;  Captain 
Car,  1 1 :  Fetch  me  my  pestilett,  and  charge  me  my  gonne.  Three 
considerations  are  suggested  for  this  matter  of  omitted  light  syllables. 
In  the  first  place,  ballads  were  sung,  and  it  is  easier  thus  to  dispose 
of  the  metrical  hiatus  than  in  recitation.  Secondly,  many  syllables 
may  be  resolved  into  two  :  Gest,  3524:  myre ;  3372:  slayne  ;  378*: 
saynt ;  Cheviot,  39*:  years;  Lady  Maisry,  ig4:  world;  Otter  burn, 
373:  desyres  ;  and,  for  inflectional  reasons,  Guy,  7*:  had  been  many 
a  man's  bane ;  see  Lin,  3o4:  I  am  your  bairn's  father.  Thirdly,  one 
must  reckon  with  the  final  e.  It  is  not  pretended  that  all  such  cases 
are  marked  in  this  collection,  nor  that  those  marked  are  invariably 
necessary.  There  is  a  subjective  element  always  present  in  scanning 
these  lines  ;  but  it  may  be  suggested  that  even  where  a  final  e  is  no 
longer  sounded,  it  may  affect  the  metre,  precisely  as  the  disappear- 
ance of  terminal  vowels  in  oldest  Germanic,  according  to  Scherer 
(GescA.  d.  d.  Spr.z,  p.  625,  note),  and  Moller  (Ahd.  Alliterations- 
poesie,  p.  152),  may  account  for  omitted  light  syllables  in  that  older 
verse. 

There  remains  the  matter  of  shifted  accent,  whether  for  the  verse 
or  for  the  word.  For  the  former  one  example  will  suffice  :  Gest, 
246*:  And  the  trouthe  tell  thou  me.  For  the  latter,  "hovering 
accent"  will  account  for  most  cases,  though  outright  "  wrenched 
accent "  is  not  uncommon.  For  Germanic  words,  those  in  -ing  are 
most  affected:  fasti'nge,  Gest,  2$3,  22O4 ;  lesy"nge,  3222;  spendyng, 
38 32  ;  syngynge  :  mornynge,  445  ;  tydynge,  386* ;  lordynge,  38o4  ; 
endyng,  Cheviot,  684 ;  wakin,  Brackley,  3' ;  compare  further  :  dygh- 


APPENDIX  II.      %  309 

tande,  Gest,  388*  ;  mondnd,  C.  Waters,  33-*;  Other  cases  are  Eng- 
lande,  Gest,  361*;  peny,  4o2  (but  peny,  4i4)  ;  bury,  Bewick,  5i2 ; 
trulye,  Maurice,  29*;  ladi'e,  Hamilton,  g4 ;  leman,  Ravens,  io2.  For 
hovering  accent,  not  forced  by  rime  :  harper,  Estmere,  40';  wlnd6w, 
Hugh,  23 ;  welc6me,  Bewick,  282 ;  the  whyte  lyon,  Otterburn,  46* ; 
r6se-water,  Lord  T.  and  F.  A.,  24'.  For  words  of  foreign  derivation 
we  may  note :  dynere,  Gest,  i64 ;  ryvere,  332 ;  arschere,  I473 ; 
charter,  36' ;  master,  Spens,  j3 ;  velvet,  Cock,  5* ;  forest,  Gest,  297"* ; 
abbay,  84*  ;  servaunt,  1 543 ;  sertay  n,  Otterburn,  49* ;  porter,  Est- 
mere, 441 ;  castell,  Car,  3* ;  for  a  verb,  envied,  Twa  Sisters,  42  ; 
and  often  in  proper  names  :  Ellen,  Robin,  Waters,  Gregor,  Margaret. 

GENERAL   STYLE. 

Simplicity  is  the  key-note  to  the  style  of  Germanic  ballads.  Itera- 
tion and  parallelism  are  the  constant  factors ;  standing  phrases, 
recurring  epithets  —  "  comely  king,"  "  lovely  London,"  "  bluid-red 
wine,"  "  berry-brown  steed,"  —  are  plentiful ;  metaphors  are  rare  in 
any  artistic  and  intentional  sort,  —  "  byte  "  for  "  cut,"  Otterburn,  56', 
is  as  old  as  our  literature  ;  similes  are  few  and  rarely  sustained  :  see 
Guy,  4  ;  Otterburn,  51  ;  Cheviot,  32  ;  Armstrong,  5,  and  the  like. 
Antithesis  is  rare,  except  where  iteration  is  concerned ;  while  the 
anacoluthon,  sign  of  imperfect  artistic  control,  is  fairly  abundant: 
see  Gest,  2533>4,  or  Spens,  34  for  a  less  important  phrase.  For  other 
qualities  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  ballads  themselves.  While 
they  have  no  artifices  to  increase  interest,  and  while  they  are  not 
uniform  in  movement,  they  know  how  to  tell  a  story  :  see  the  end  of 
Robin  Hood  and  the  Monk,  stanzas  61  ff.  The  poet  Gray  praises 
this  unconscious  art :  see  his  letter  to  Mason,  Works,  ed.  Gosse,  II, 
316.  "I  have  got  the  old  Scotch  ballad  [aversion  of  Child  Maurice] 
on  which  Douglas  [Home's  tragedy]  was  founded.  It  is  divine  .  .  . 
Aristotle's  best  rules  are  observed  in  it  in  a  manner  which  shews  the 
author  never  had  heard  of  Aristotle.  It  begins  in  the  fifth  act  of 
the  play.  You  may  read  it  two-thirds  through  without  guessing 
what  it  is  about ;  and  yet,  when  you  come  to  the  end,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  understand  the  whole  story." 


APPENDIX   III. 


MINSTRELS,  AND  THE   AUTHORSHIP  OF  BALLADS. 

There  is  no  doubt  in  regard  to  the  existence  of  professional  singers 
among  the  early  Germans  ;  but  the  precise  nature  of  their  "  profes- 
sion "  is  not  easy  to  define.  For  the  facts  we  have  simply  to  read 
the  statements  of  WidsiiS,  a  typical  Germanic  singer :  see  ten  Brink, 
Gesch.  d.  engl.  Lit.,  I,  29,  and  Moller,  Das  altengl.  Volksepos,  p.  31  f. 
Of  such  a  singer  it  was  said  that  he  knew  his  business;  so  one  must 
interpret  "se  )>e  wel  cufte,"  Beowulf,  90 f.,  or  even  "so  he  uuola 
conda,"  used  of  Wodan  in  the  Merseburg  incantation,  Mullenhoff- 
Scherer,  Denkmaler3,  I,  16;  II,  46:  see  also  their  reference  to 
Otfrid's  similar  phrase,  as  well  as  the  "  \>a.  be  wel  ciiSan  "  of  WidsrS, 
io6f.  Deor,  too,  was  certainly  a  singer  to  the  court.  W.  Grimm, 
Heldensage2,  p.  382  ff.,  has  ample  material  to  prove  that  trained 
singers  were  known  among  the  Germans  from  earliest  times ;  but 
he  emphasizes  the  "  free  "  singing  of  kings,  heroes,  and  particularly 
the  people  at  large  (p.  385).  Song,  he  concludes,  was  both  "free" 
and  professional.  The  "  blind  crowder  "  may  be  mentioned  here  : 
Demodokos,  Homer,  Ossian,  and  the  blind  singers  of  Servia,  are  all 
in  point,  not  to  speak  of  the  Spanish  Romances  de  Ciegos ;  and  a 
well-known  quotation  from  Titurel ':  "so  singent  uns  die  blinden, 
daz  Sivrit  hiirnin  waere,"  tells  of  German  custom  :  see  W.  Grimm, 
Heldensage2,  p.  384,  and  J.  Grimm,  Kl.  Schr.,  V,  169 f.  In  the 
eighth  century  there  was  a  famous  Frisian  singer,  blind  Bernlef, 
"  qui  a  vicinis  suis  valde  diligebatur  eo  quod  esset  affabalis  et  anti- 
quorum  actus  regumque  certamina  bene  noverat  psallendo  [i.  e., 
striking  the  harp  as  he  sang]  promere " :  Vita  Liudgeri,  Pertz, 
Man.  Germ.,  Scriptores,  II,  412.  Scherer,  leaning  on  Milton  and 
J.  Grimm,  is  fain  to  go  farther  and  count  blindness  as  a  factor  in 
the  making  of  poets  themselves:  Poetik,  p.  175 f.  We  must  cer- 
tainly follow  Mullenhoff  (Sagen,  Lieder,  u.  s.  TV.,  p.  xviiif.)  in  sunder- 
ing nobler  minstrels  from  the  mob  of  gleemen  who  ran  in  bands  and 
sang  farces  or  played  tricks  in  attempts  to  evoke  the  coarser  gaiety 
of  nations ;  so,  too,  we  must  sunder  the  blind  singer  and  recorder 
of  the  best  ballads  from  the  gleeman  whose  dog  furnished  an  apt 


APPENDIX  III.  311 

comparison  to  the  poet  of  the  Vision  about  Piers  Plowman  (ed. 
Skeat,  B,  v,  353). 

Writers  about  the  minstrel  have  fixed  their  attention  too  exclu- 
sively on  one  side  of  the  picture.  We  have  evidence  of  almost  royal 
splendor,  privileges  of  the  knight  and  the  noble ;  and  we  have 
evidence  of  utter  squalor.  It  was  on  the  latter  spectacle  that 
Ritson  dwelt  with  such  delight,  hurling  phrases  parliamentary 
("  Beggars  they  are  with  one  consent,  And  Rogues  by  act  of  Par- 
liament ")  or  scurrilous  at  these  proteges  of  Percy ;  while  the  Bishop 
and  Scott  had  a  far  nobler  person  in  mind.  There  is  no  doubt  about 
the  degeneration  of  minstrels:  W.  Grimm,  Heldensage2,  p.  285. 
Motherwell  notes  (Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  I,  50  f.)  that  they  kept 
good  character  longer  in  Scotland  than  in  England.  It  was  the 
rabble  of  mountebanks,  coarse  singers  and  jugglers,  who  brought 
contempt  upon  an  honest  calling ;  and  we  have  fallen  upon  evil 
tongues  as  well  as  evil  times  when  we  find  gross  immorality  flung 
in  the  faces  of  the  profession  as  their  invariable  failing:  see  Dunbar's 
Poems,  ed.  Schipper,  I,  83,  The  DeviTs  Inquest,  st.  14;  and  compare 
the  "commone  menstrallis,"  —  town-pipers,  says  Schipper,  —  p.  86, 
st.  5.  But  a  Bernlef,  as  well  as  a  Homer,  must  be  otherwise  con- 
sidered ;  and  Scott  and  Motherwell  would  trace  much  of  our  ballad 
poetry  to  the  composition  of  humbler  but  worthy  singers :  "  minstrels 
.  .  .  and  fellow-poets,  as  opposed  to  mere  reciters,"  says  the  latter, 
Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  1,9;  and  Paul  (Grundriss,  I,  231)  declares 
that  in  times  of  oral  transmission,  poet  and  minstrel  are  one  and  the 
same  person. 

We  do  not  need  the  minstrels  as  a  class,  however,  to  account  for 
the  origin  of  ballads ;  they  were  probably  agents  in  the  preservation 
of  popular  song,  and  incidentally  may  have  added  to  the  stock. 
Who,  for  example,  wrote  The  Battle  of  Otterburn  ?  Not  a  commu- 
nity, —  as  the  poem  lies  before  us,  at  least.  Certainly  not  a  ballad- 
maker  like  the  later  Tom  Deloney.  Not,  we  may  add,  the  profes- 
sional though  popular  minstrel.  Let  us  bear  in  mind  ten  Brink's 
account  of  the  process ;  let  us  fancy  much  of  this  homogeneous 
social  condition  still  existing  along  the  border,  even  in  1388.  After 
such  a  glorious  fight,  we  may  think,  at  merry-makings  of  the  village, 
in  the  hall  of  the  knight,  and  among  the  men-at-arms,  not  forgetting 
the  dance  and  chorus,  "  the  carols  of  the  maidens  and  minstrels  of 
Scotland"  and  even  the  laments  for  fallen  heroes,  stanzas  in  a  tra- 
ditional metre,  with  traditional  tune,  phrases,  and  style,  would  spring 
into  being  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  The  strongest  consideration 


312  APPENDIX  III. 

in  such  a  case  is  the  acknowledged  aptitude  of  the  older  peasant  for 
improvisation  and  spontaneous  narrative  song.  Special  names, 
special  deeds,  special  points  of  view;  a  traditional  art;  spontaneous 
singing.  Out  of  all  this,  by  a  survival,  we  will  hope,  of  the  fittest, 
some  singer  of  note  would  in  time  chant  a  ballad  into  unity;  we  do 
not  exclude  a  certain  amount  of  invention  here,  for  the  ballad  as  we 
have  it,  is  not  a  mere  improvisation  for  the  dance,  but  a  thing  of 
some  art,  meant  to  entertain  listeners,  whose  share  in  singing  was 
limited  to  a  refrain.  So  we  may  think  of  a  traditional  ballad  founded 
on  known  events.  When  we  are  dealing  with  ballads  from  a  tale, 
from  some  borrowed  bit  of  history  or  sensation,  we  can  still  think  of 
the  schnaderhiipfl,  the  tendency  to  improvise  stanzas  on  a  given 
subject;  but  we  must  of  course  give  more  room  to  the  art  of  a  singer. 
In  any  case,  what  we  do  not  admit,  about  any  of  these  ballads,  is  the 
notion  of  a  "  self-taught  bard  "  rapt  into  poetic  mood  by  the  deeds 
of  battle  or  a  tale  of  woe,  and  inventing  de  longue  haleine,  —  our 
modern  composition  is  out  of  the  question, — some  stirring  ballad 
for  the  edification  of  a  passive  if  enthusiastic  audience.  The 
question,  then,  is  not  of  the  minstrels  of  a  people  so  much  as  of  a 
people  of  minstrels.  Hence,  too,  we  are  not  necessarily  to  think  of 
a  single  and  definite  original,  the  urtext,  of  a  ballad.  The  versions 
are  not  necessarily  variations  of  an  original,  which  has  been  left  to 
the  chances  of  oral  transmission;  they  may  be,  and  often  are,  con- 
temporary results  of  the  original  artistic  process  which  tended  to 
stamp  form  and  unity  upon  material  mainly  due  to  communal  and 
spontaneous  singing. 

From  this  point  of  view,  it  is  of  little  importance  to  pursue  the 
minstrel  through  all  his  haunts  and  adventures.  Often  he  may  have 
helped  to  hand  down  good  ballads,  and,  in  the  sense  defined  above, 
even  to  make  them.  Often,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  a  mere  town- 
piper  and  musician.  Now  and  then  he  was  an  artist,  and,  like  Blind 
Harry,  composed  a  sort  of  epic.  If  Sidney  heard  the  Cheviot — or 
Otterburn?  —  from  a  "blind  crowder,"  Shakspere  sends  us  for  bal- 
lads to  "  the  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun."  The  ballad 
belonged  to  the  people,  and  was  exclusive  property  of  minstrels  as 
little  in  the  making  as  in  the  singing.  —  For  particulars  about  the 
minstrels  of  Europe,  see  Schultz,  Das  hb'fische  Leben  zur  Zeit  d. 
Minnesinger,  I,  565;  E.  Freymond,  Jongleurs  u,  Menestrels,  Halle, 
1883,  mainly  for  Romance  relations;  Talvj,  Charakteristik,  p.  481  f; 
I.  von  Dollinger,  Beitrdge  zur  Sektengeschichte  des  Afittelalters,  II, 
621-4;  Axel  Olrik,  Middelalderens  vandrende  Spillem&nd,  Opuscula 
Philologica,  Copenh.,  1887,  p.  74  ff. 


NOTES. 

The  figures  refer  to  stanza  and  line. 


A   GEST   OF   ROBYN    MODE. 

See  Child,  Ballads,  V,  39  ff.;1  Ritson,  Robin  Hood,  ed.  1832: 
'Notes  and  Illustrations';  Hales,  'Introduction  to  the  Robin  Hood 
Ballads,'  in  the  Percy  Folio,  I,  I  ff . ;  Fricke,  Die  Robin-Hood  Balladen 
(Dissertation),  Braunschweig,  1883;  Brandl,  in  Paul's  Griindriss, 
II,  i,  657  f.,  842  ff.  The  present  text  is  mainly  a  (Child),  the  'last 
piece  in  a  volume  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  Edinburgh.'  The  date 
is  uncertain,  but  should  be  placed  early  in  the  sixteenth  century. 
Another  version,  b,  which  supplies  deficiencies  in  a,  was  printed  by 
Wynkyn  de  Worde;  a  fragment,  c,  printed  not  earlier  than  1489, 
and  other  editions  or  fragments,  are  used  for  occasional  variation. 
The  text  of  a  would  seem  to  be  the  oldest.  '  The  whole  poem  may 
have  been  put  together  as  early  as  1400,  or  before'  (Child),  and  it 
is  based  on  older  ballads.  Fyttes  i,  2  and  4  seem  to  have  the  closest 
relationship ;  3  has  a  digression  about  Little  John.  It  seems  also 
as  if  different  persons  of  independent  ballads  had  been  fused  into 
one  person  of  the  Gest :  e.g.,  Syr  Richarde  at  the  Lee  and  the  knight 
of  the  first  fytte  were  perhaps  different  persons.  Professor  Child 
supposes  at  least  four  ballads  as  basis  for  this  little  epos  :  '  Robin 
Hood,  the  Knight,  and  the  Monk  ;  Robin  Hood,  Little  John,  and 
the  Sheriff ;  Robin  Hood  and  the  King ;  Robin  Hood's  Death ' 
(p.  42),  and  no  one  of  these  'is  extant  in  a  separate  shape,  and  some 
portions  of  the  story  may  have  been  of  the  compiler's  own  inven- 
tion '  (p.  49).  The  conclusion  is  '  a  mere  epilogue,'  leaving  three 
distinct  stories  :  Robin's  doings  with  the  knight,  with  the  sheriff, 
and  with  the  king.  The  sheriff,  of  course,  is  no  individual,  but 
Robin's  official  enemy;  which  accounts,  says  Fricke  (p.  31),  for  the 
repeated  deceptions  practised  on  him.  The  other  ballads  which 

1  For  convenience,  all  references  to  this  work  will  be  made  by  Parts. 


314  NOTES. 

belong  to  the  same  ancient  date  with  the  Gest,  are  Robin  Hood  and 
the  Monk,  and  Robin  Hood  and  the  Potter  (Child,  V,  108  ff.).  —  For 
the  topography,  one  must  not  demand  any  accuracy  from  the  Gest. 
'  There  was  evidently  at  one  time  a  Barnsdale  cycle  and  a  Sherwood 
cycle  of  Robin  Hood  ballads.  The  Sheriff  of  Nottingham  would 
belong  to  the  Sherwood  cycle.'  For  special  localities,  see  the  notes. 
—  To  identify  Robin  Hood  with  Woden  (Kuhn,  in  Haupt's  Zts.,  V, 
472  ff.),  or  with  a  historical  personage  in  England,  is  sheer  conjecture, 
and  utterly  lacks  foundation.  Robin  Hood  is  an  idealized  outlaw. — 
Ritson  collected  many  references  to  Robin  Hood,  and  others  have 
added  to  the  list.  The  oldest  of  which  we  know  is  in  Piers  Plow- 
man, version  B  (1377),  v,  401  f.  Sloth  knows  'rymes  of  Robyn 
Hood  and  Randolf,  erle  of  Chester.'  Ritson  also  collected  a  number 
of  proverbs  (R.  H.,  p.  xcix  ff.),  one  of  which  we  still  use  daily:  'to 
go  round  Robin  Hood's  barn.' 

2  1.     Similar  favorites  of  ballads  were  Here  ward,  about  whom  we 
have  no  ballads  preserved,  and  Gamelyn,  whose  story  is  told  in  the 
interpolated  tale  of  the  cook  in  the  Canterbury  Tales ;  see  Skeat, 
Gamelyn,  Oxford,  1884. 

3  1.     Bernesdale.  —  Barnsdale,  'a  woodland  region  in  the  West 
Riding  of  Yorkshire.'     For  discussion  of  the  general   topography 
see  Child,  Ballads,  V,  50  f. 

3  3.     Litell  Johnn.  —  He  is  associated  with  Robin  from  earliest 
times.     Wyntoun,  Chronicle  of  Scotland,  1420: 

'  Lytill  Ihon  and  Robyne  Hude, 
Waythmen  ware  commendyd  gude.' 

4  1.     Scarlok.- — In  b.  and  later  in  a,  Scathelok. 

4  4.     An  inch  of  his  body  was  worth  an  ordinary  man. 
7  1.     The  line  is  lacking  in  all  versions. 

10.  For  courtesy,  says  Professor  Child,  Robin  is  '  a  popular 
Gawain,'  that  is,  the  Gawain  of  the  old  romances,  not  of  Tennyson. 

15  3.     Nottingham  as  a  locality  would  naturally  belong   to  the 
'  Sherwood  cycle,'  and  Sherwood  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  Gest 
(Child,  V,  51,  note);  but  these  irregularities  are  of  no  moment. 

16  3.     fer  dayes  =  far  on  in  the  day,  late.     It  was  the  custom  of 
Arthur  not  to  eat  '  until  he  had  heard  of  some  adventure  or  strange 
news';  and  Robin  here  imitates  the  blameless  king.     See  note  to 
The  Boy  and  the  Mantle,  Child,  II,  257. 

18  l.  'The  Sayles  appears  to  be  some  place  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Barnsdale.  .  .  .' —  Ritson.  '  A  very  small  tenancy  of  the  manor 
of  Pontefract.' — Child. 


NOTES.  315 

18  2.  Watlinge  Strete.  —  '  The  name  generally  used  by  the  vulgar 
for  Erming-street.  The  course  of  the  real  Watling  Street  was  from 
Dover  to  Chester.' —  Ritson.  Here  the  Great  North  Road  is  meant. 

20.     See  220. 

22  4.      Thafothere.  —  That  =  def.  article.     Cf.  '  the  tother.' 

25  l.  Grene  wode. — Whether  so  pronounced,  or  read  with  omitted 
light  syllable,  is  really  of  little  moment  for  the  metre. 

29  'J.  It  is  common  in  these  ballads  (so  Gest,  134  3,  268  4 ;  Monk, 
384,  624)  to  omit  the  personal  pronoun  as  subject  of  a  sentence 
or  clause  when  it  may  be  readily  conjectured  by  reference  to  the 
preceding  clause.  Here  it  is  probably  Robin  (cf.  263)  who  kneels, 
though  it  may  be  the  knight. 

31  2.     Note  the  alliterating  formula,  and  cf.  the  specimens  given 
above,  p.  305  f. 

32  1.     There  was  rigid  etiquette  in  those  times  in  regard  to  this 
custom ;  see  Furnivall,  Babees  Book,   E.   E.   T.  S.,  p.  322,  for  the 
duties  of  the  enwere  (Ewerer)  before  meat. 

39  2.     Like  our  '  So  help  you  God.' 

45  3.     '  I  think  you  must  have  been  forced  to  accept  knighthood.' 
Child  refers  to  Stubbs,  Constitutional  Hist.,  II,  281  f. 

46  1.     'A  bad  manager.' 

49  2.  Wanting  in  f  and  g ;  while  50  2,  3,  are  transposed  in  all 
versions.  Child,  1V,  53,  v.  194,  and  Allingham  in  his  Ballad  Book, 
read  '  kende '  for  '  knowe,'  restoring  the  rime,  and  leaving  50  2,  3, 
transposed. 

54  4.  Mary,  genitive  fern.  Cf.  modern  'lady-day,'  and  Chaucer's 
'his  lady  grace,'  Prol.,  C.  T.,  88. — 'St.  Mary's  Abbey  was  at  York, 
and  must  have  been  a  good  twenty  miles  from  Barnsdale.'  —  Child. 

56  2.     '  What  shall  become  of  thee  ? ' 

62-66.     See  Professor  Child's  comments,  V,  51  f. 

68  4.  In  b,  f,  g,  '  eighteen  score,'  which  is  obviously  wrong.  — 
Eight  and  hventy  score  is  '  twenty  score  and  over,' —  a  generous  count. 

70  3.     lyveray  here  =  suit  of  clothes ;  but  see  note  to  161  3. 

73  1.     met  =  measured. 

81  3.  Compare  the  knight's  yeoman  in  the  Canterbury  Tales, 
Prologue,  101  ff. 

83  4-118  3.     Wanting  in  a,  supplied  from  b. 

87  1,  98  1.     Wanting  in  all  versions. 

87  4.     Disherited  =  dispossessed. 

88  1.     '  The  prior,  in  an  abbey,  was  the  officer  immediately  under 
the  abbot ;  in  priories  and  conventual  cathedrals  he  was  the  superior.' 
—  Ritson. 


316  NOTES. 

91  2.     Ritson  mentions  three  St.  Richards. 

92  3.     In  other  words,  if  the  knight  failed  to  pay  this  relatively 
trifling  sum  upon  '  his  day,'  all  his  estates  fell  to  the  abbey, —  a  most 
iniquitous  arrangement,  for  which  the  substitution  of  regular  interest 
on  borrowed  money,  of  mortgage  and  the  like,  might  well  be  reckoned 
an  advance  in  civilization. 

93  3,  4.     That  is,  the  Chief  Justice  was  retained,  or  bribed  (see  107), 
by  the  abbot.     '  Abbot '  is  subject  of  'did  holde.' 

96  3.  In  grievous  or  bad  time ;  '  in  an  evil  hour.'  «  Sorrow '  was 
early  confused  with  '  sorry.' 

100  3.  Coresed  ?  —  The  '  harnessed '  or  '  caparisoned  '  of  the  glos- 
saries is  a  guess. 

104  3.     shrewed  =  '  cursed.' 

116  1, 2.  See  description  of  the  knight  in  Canterbury  Tales, 
Prologue,  v.  43  ff.,  where  these  foreign  parts  are  mentioned  in  detail. 

117.  The  justice  foresees  legal  troubles  if  sheer  confiscation  be 
attempted,  and  advises  a  payment  of  money  to  the  knight  in  return 
for  a  quittance  or  release  by  the  latter.  As  it  is,  the  knight  pays 
back  the  money  without  any  interest  (cf.  121  3,  4) ;  while  to  Robin 
Hood  (cf.  270)  he  offers  additional  money,  besides  gifts. 

126  4.  '  Wierysdale  is  the  name  of  a  forest  in  Lancashire.'  — 
Ritson.  '  It  is  very  likely,  therefore,  that  the  knight's  castle,  in  the 
original  ballad,  was  in  Lancashire.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  put 
in  the  Gest,  309  f.,  on  the  way  between  Nottingham  and  Robin 
Hood's  retreat,  which  must  be  assumed  to  be  Barnsdale.'  Child, 
V,  50.  We  have  here  the  confusion  of  two  ballad-cycles,  mentioned 
above. 

128  3.     '  Had  it  not  been  for  his  kindness.' 

132.  Chaucer's  Yeoman  bears  'a  shef  of  pocock  arwes';  there 
were  usually  twenty-four  arrows  in  a  'sheaf.' 

133  3-136  3.      Wanting  in  a,  supplied  from  b. 

135  l.     On  the  Went,  the  northern  boundary  of  Barnsdale.     The 
original   reads :    '  But  as   he  went  at  a  bridge.'     Professor  Child 
suggests  the  reading  adopted  in  the  text.     Wentbridge  is  named  in 
Robin  Hood  and  the  Potter,  Child,  V,  109. 

136  f.     The  value  of  the  prizes  indicates  an  extraordinary  occa- 
sion. 

138  3.     '  Because  he  was  a  stranger.' 

145  ff.  Ritson  in  his  '  Notes  and  Illustrations,'  Robin  Hood,  1832, 
xliii,  remarks  that  archery  was  cultivated  assiduously  until  '  about 
the  year  1540,  when  owing  to  the  introduction  of  artillery  and 
matchlock  guns,  it  became  neglected.'  See  his  references. 


NOTES.  317 

148  4.     Wonyng  (A.-S.  ivuming)  and  wane  (A.-S.  gewuna)  mean 
the  same  thing,  a  dwelling. 

149  2.     Dame  =  mother. 

152  4.     A  good  and  strong  horse. 

160  4.    go  =  walk. 

161  3.     Lyveray  was  '  the  quantity  of  provisions  delivered  *at  one 
time  by  the  butler.'  —  Ritson. 

163  3,  4.  For  a  heroic  cook  of  even  grander  proportions,  see 
Rumolt  in  the  Nibelungen. 

170  1.  'Many  men  talk  of  Robin  Hood  that  never  shot  in  his 
bow,1  was  a  common  proverb,  quoted  by  Ritson,  ft.  H.,  p.  xcix  f. 

170  3.  See  Wright's  note,  King  Lear,  Clarendon  Press  Ed.,  ii,  2, 
14,  on  'three-suited.'  He  thinks  it  probable  'that  three  suits  of 
clothes  a  year  were  part  of  a  servant's  allowance.' 

1764.  'A  forest  highe  and  hore,'  Morte  Arthur,  314,  quoted 
by  Stratmann,  Dictionary.  Hoar  is  a  very  common  epithet  for 
a  wood :  see  Kolbing's  note  to  Beves  of  Hamtoun,  95,  E.  E.  T.  S., 
p.  225. 

177  2.     '  Christ  save  and  protect  thee  ! ' 

182  3.     '  Knew  what  courtesy  demanded.' 

184  2.     can  =  gan  =  '  did.' 

185  2.     Allingham  changes  to  'full  shene';  but  of  course  Robin 
Hood  is  meant  (see  188  4)  with  his  coat  of  green.     Little  John  asks 
the  sheriff  to  come  see  a  marvellous  sight. 

186  1,2.     Sixty  tines,  forks,  of  the  antlers  would  be  'marvellous' 
indeed. 

189  3.  Wo  the  worthe  =  '  Woe  be  to  thee  ! '  Worthe  =  A.-S. 
weor\>e,  subj.  pres.  of  weor\>an,  to  become. 

198  1.  'This  is  a  harder  discipline,  a  more  severe  order,'  —  as  of 
friars  or  anchorites. 

202  1,2.  A  common  form  of  oath  :  see  Hamlet,  i,  5.  In  358  the 
princes  of  the  Quadi  drew  their  swords,  '  which  they  worship  as 
deities,'  and  swore  to  keep  faith.  Ammianus  Marcell.,  xvii,  12. 

202  3.     '  Thou  wilt  never  lie  in  wait  to  harm  me.' 

204  4.  Hepe  =  hip.  As  the  hip  has  '  woolly  seeds,'  Allingham 
changed  to  '  haw.' 

208  4-314  l.     \V anting  in  a,  supplied  from  b. 

210  3,  4.  To  save  the  rime,  these  verses  are  inverted  from  the 
order  of  all  the  versions. 

213  3.     Black  monks  =  Benedictines. 

215  2.     Frese  ?  a  crux. 

221  3.     Strong  thefe  =  a  violent  robber,  a  highwayman. 


318  NOTES. 

223  l.  A  bolt  'was  an  arrow  .  .  .  used  chiefly  for  shooting  at 
birds;  having  a  round  or  blunt  head.' —  Ritson. 

223  4.     So  that  he  fell  to  the  ground.     Can  =  did. 

225  4.  The  common  phrase  '  maugre  thy  teeth  '  (a  modern  poem 
has  :  '  In  spite  of  all  her  teeth ')  is  here  confused  with  more  vulgar 
exclamations. 

229  4.     Pricking  (=  spurring)  seems  here  to  mean  'hurrying.' 

230  2.     Raye.      '  Cloth    not    coloured    or    dyed   .  .  .'  —  Ritson. 
'Striped  cloth.' —  Halliwell,  who  is  probably  right. 

240  4.  See  149  2. 

242  3.  'Owe  thee  more  thanks,'  —  am  so  much  the  more  grateful. 

246  4.  '  No  penny  let  me  see,'  g. 

248  4.  Cast  =  a  throw,  as  in  dice  ;  f  and  g  have  cost. 

249  4.  me  =  ethical  dative. 

253  2.  The  monk  was  going  to  institute  legal  proceedings 
against  the  knight,  on  whatever  grounds.  Mote=  meeting,  is  con- 
stantly associated  with  law,  and  in  view  of  the  monk's  cause  we 
may  well  quote  Piers  Plowman  (ed.  Skeat,  B,  iv,  152)  : 

'  For  I  seige  [==  saw]  Mede  in  the  moot-halle  on  men  of  lawe  wynke.' 

The  whole  passus  is  in  point,  and  so  is  Hi. 

256  1.  'And  what  is  on  the  other  courser?'  'And  what  is  in  the 
other  coffer?'  are  the  readings  of  f  and  g.  Professor  Kittredge 
suggests  forcer  =  coffer. 

268  1.  Professor  Kittredge  would  read  :  But  take  not  a-grefe, 
a-grief,  in  grief  (i.e.  as  a  grievance). 

274  4.     'This  trusty  tree,'/, g. 

282  4.     dyde  crye  =  l  caused  to  cry ';  cf.  '  I  do  you  to  wit.' 

297  1.     See  note  to  Monk,  192. 

307  4.     '  Depart,'/,  g. 

310  -3.  at  the  Lee=\h&  knight's  surname,  as  if  Atlee.  Cf.  names 
like  '  Atwood,'  or  the  German  '  im  Thurm.' 

316  l.  The  'bord'  or  table  was  commonly  laid  on  trestles,  which 
were  folded  up  when  the  board  was  removed  :  the  Usher 

Awoydes  [removes]  J>o  horde  into  |>o  More, 

Tase  away  )>o  trestes  J>at  ben  so  store  [big,  strong]. 

Babees  Book,  ed.  Furnivall,  p.  326. 

318  2.  This  was  probably  the  posse  comitatus,  or  a  sort  of  hue 
and  cry. 

322  2.  A  recurring  formula,  useful  in  patching  out  the  stanza : 
cf.  353  2. 


NOTES.  319 

334  2.  See  note  31  2.  Free  here  means  '  noble,  full  of  grace  and 
favor.' 

346  4.*  '  For  thy  boote,'  reads  g,  to  make  better  rime. 

349  4  to  the  end,  wanting  in  a,  supplied  from  b. 

357  1.  Passe  =  limits,  bounds,  extent ;  f,g,  read  '  compass.' 

363  3.  '  May  ride  or  walk.' 

364  2.  A  jocose  expression  of  old  standing. 

3664.     w^#  — pret.    (otherwise    walde,    welde,    -wolde   in    Middle-, 
English  :  A.-S.  weold)  of  welden-=to  have  power  over,  to  govern  or 
control. 

367  4.     '  You  must  follow  my  advice.' 

385  l.     targe  ?  f,  g,  have  seals. 

388  4.  dyghtande  =  the  original  form  of  the  present  participle 
which  afterwards,  as  in  modern  English,  became  confused  with  the 
verbal  noun  in  -ing.  In  A.-S.,  -ende  was  the  normal  ending,  with 
-ande  as  a  Northern  form  ;  in  M.-E.  -ende  becomes  -inde,  -inge,  ing, 
while  Scottish  and  Northern  -and  held  its  place  with  obstinacy.  See 
Koch,  Lant-  u.  Flexionslehre  d.  Engl.  Spr.,2  p.  342  f. 

403  2.  Notwithstanding  his  friend's  experience.  Fare  = '  doings.' 
See  Chaucer,  Knight's  Tale,  951. 

417  1.     '  Unless  your  service  please  me.' 

418  1-422  I.     See  Ritson,  p.  xlv  f.,  who  quotes  Spenser,  Faerie 
Queene,  vi,  2,  5  : 

'  All  in  a  woodman's  jacket  he  was  clad 
Of  Lincoln  greene  .  .  .' 

and  Drayton,  Polyolbion,  xxv,  with  note.  '  Lincoln  anciently  dyed 
the  best  green  in  England.'  Kendal  green  was  also  famous.  '  This 
colour  was  adopted  by  the  foresters  to  prevent  their  being  too  readily 
discovered  by  the  deer,' — a  questionable  though  exquisite  reason. 

423  l.     As  if  they  were  outlaws. 

424  3.     It   is    suggested    to    the    editor    that    plucke-buffet    is    an 
adverbial  phrase  modifying  s/tote,  and  consists  of  a  verb  plucke  = 
'take,  pluck,'  and   its  object  'buffet.'     However  this  may  be,  the 
sport  is  evidently  much  the  same  as  that  described  above  (st.  400), 
and  plucke-buffet   may   be    simply    the   name    of   the   sport.  —  The 
exchanging  of  buffets  or  hard  blows  is  a  practice  common  enough 
in  the  romances ;  but  this  is  an  affair  of  archery. 

428  3.  'If  R.  H.  came  to  the  town,'  etc.  Come  =  subjunctive  of 
condition  ;  lefte  = '  would  leave.' 

434  2.  This  liberal  expenditure  was  the  proper  thing  for  knights 
and  men  of  rank ;  and  the  minstrel's  point  of  view  in  the  matter  is 
well  known  from  the  days  of  Widsiti>  down. 


320  NOTES. 

442  3.     Cf.  Piers  Plowman,  ed.  Skeat,  B,  xviii,  i  : 

'  Wolleward  and  wete-shoed  went  1  forth  after ' ;         f 

to  which  Skeat  remarks  (A'otes,  E.  E.  T.  S.,  No.  67,  p.  395),  quoting 
Palsgrave's  '  without  any  lynnen  nexte  ones  body.  Sans  chemyse,' 
that  it  clearly  means  '  with  wool  next  to  one's  body.'  It  is  a  kind 
of  penance,  and  is  prescribed  in  Hampole's  Pricke  of  Conscience, 

/•35I2f- 

4513.  See  Ritson,  p.  hi.  — '  Kirkleys,  Kirklees,  or  Kirkleghes, 
formerly  Kuthale,  in  the  deaconry  of  Pontefract,  and  archdeaconry 
of  the  west  riding  of  Yorkshire,  was  a  Cistercian,  or,  as  some  say,  a 
Benedictine  nunnery,  founded  ...  in  the  reign  of  King  Henry  II.' 


ROBIN    HOOD   AND    GUY   OF   GISBORNE. 

Printed  from  Percy  Folio,  ed.  Hales-Furnivall,  II,  227  ff. ;  Child, 
Ballads,  V,  89  ff. —  A  few  verses  are  lost  between  2  and  3. —  For  the 
probable  tune  of  the  ballad,  see  Chappell,  Pop.  Mus.  Old.  Ttme,  II, 
397. —  Gisborne  'is  a  market  town  in  the  West  Riding  of  the 
County  of  York,  on  the  borders  of  Lancashire.'  H.-F. —  This  ballad 
is  rich  in  alliterative  and  proverbial  phrases. 

2.  Woodweele :  MS.  woodweete.  Glossary  H.-F.:  'wodewale, 
bryd  idem  quod  reynefowle  or  wodehake  (or  nothac.  Picus)  et  lucar.1 
(Promptortum.)  That  is,  =  '  ivilwall,  the  great  spotted  woodpecker.' 
But  Chappell,  II,  396,  referring  to  Rom.  Rose,  (attributed  to  Chau- 
cer), vv.  658,  914  [where  Morris,  Aldine  ed.,  glosses  '  witwall '  or 
woodpecker],  insists  that  this  woodweele  is  a  singing  bird,  say  the 
woodlark.  Possibly  woodweete  is  right,  after  all ;  though  cf.  Thomas 
of  Erceldoune,  ed.  Brandl,  v.  31  : 

I  herde  the  jaye  and  the  throstell, 

The  mawys  menyde  of  hir  songe, 
The  wodewale  beryde  as  a  belle, 

That  alle  the  wode  abowte  me  ronge. 

2s.  A  fyne=On  lime,  linden.  'I  would  read  "so  greene,"' 
says  Percy. 

3  l.  They  are  the  two  wight  yeomen  who,  Robin  dreamed,  beat 
and  bound  him.  Sir  Guy  of  Gisborne  is  one,  —  the  name  '  yeoman  ' 
need  make  no  trouble  ;  and  Professor  Child  points  out  (V,  89)  that 
the  other  must  be  the  sheriff  of  Nottingham.  '  The  dream  simply 
foreshadows  danger  from  two  quarters.' 


NOTES.  321 

20  1.  downe  seems  to  rime  with  John;  and  Percy  is  probably 
right  that  '  quoth  the  sheriffe  '  was  added  by  some  '  explainer.' 

27  4.     '  Many  men  meet  at  unset  Steven,'  at  an  unappointed  time. 
See  Chaucer,  C.  T.,  Knight's  Tale,  v.  666. 

28  3.     In  twinn  •=.  apart.      '  330   yards   must   have    been  a   long 
range.  .  .  .     Prickes   seem    to   have    been    the   long-range    targets, 
butts  the  near.' — Furnivall.    See  also  Ritson,  K.  //.,  1832,  p.  xli,  and 
his  references. 

31  2.  The  garlande  has  been  denned  as  '  the  ring  within  which 
the  prick  was  set ' ;  and  the  prick  seems  to  have  been  now  a  wand, 
now  a  white  mark,  '  bull's  eye,  or  peg  in  the  middle  of  the  target,' 
with prickewande  as  a  pole  or  stick.  A  'rover'  was  any  accidental 
mark,  —  tree  or  the  like.  The  precise  meaning  of  these  terms,  how- 
ever, is  open  to  dispute :  see  Furnivall,  Babees  Book,  E.  E.  T.  Soc., 
p.  ci ;  also,  Percy  Folio,  II,  232. 

40  3.  /i«/£zwmfc = unusual,  unexpected,  dangerous.  This  is  the 
regular  phrase  for  a  decisive  blow  in  ballad  warfare.  See  auk, 
Stratmann's  Diet.,  p.  40 :  '  sinister,  perversus.' —  It  may  also  mean  a 
backward,  backhanded  stroke. 

44.  Professor  Child  points  out  that  we  are  not  told  how  Robin 
knew  of  the  trouble  among  his  men. 


ROBIN  HOOD  AND  THE  MONK. 

Printed  by  various  editors  from  the  manuscript  'of  about  1450' 
in  the  Cambridge  University  Library.  Verses  are  lost  *at  30  2. 
From  the  beautiful  opening  of  this  old  ballad  to  its  close,  it  deserves 
the  highest  praise. 

6.  For  Robin's  great  piety,  see  Professor  Child's  comments  and 
illustrations,  Ballads,  V,  96. 

7  2.     Since  I  took  the  sacrament,  —  attended  mass. 

11  4.     Gives  him  odds  of  three  to  one. 

17  2.     A  formula,  like  Gest,  322  2:  see  note. 

19  i.     See  Gest,  91  3. 

19  2.  '  Woe  is  me  '  and  '  Woe  am  I '  occur  indifferently  in  older 
English. 

22  3-4.     It  is  your  fault  if  he  escapes. 

23  1.     traytur:  genitive.    See  24  3,  moder ;  38  3,  Moch  ;  and  note 
to  Gest,  54  4. 

29  3.     But  i/=  unless. 


322  NOTES. 

31.  The  lost  verses  doubtless  told  how  word  of  Robin's  captivity 
came  to  his  band  in  the  forest.  They  are  all  overwhelmed  by  the 
news,  except  Little  John. 

32  l.  rule,  for  which  some  editors  read  dule,  might  be  a  form  of 
'  revel '  :  see  Century  Dictionary,  s.  v.  rule.2  But  it  is  suggested  to 
the  editor  that  rule  is  here  our  common  word,  in  the  sense  of  '  con- 
duct,'—  the  way  one  '  regulates '  one's  behavior.  That  is,  John  says : 
'  Let  this  behavior  cease ! ' 

35  3.  John  evidently  knows  that  the  monk  is  going  to  London 
with  the  news  of  Robin's  capture. 

38  3.  'And  looked  in  at  the  house  of  Much's  uncle,  which  lay 
near  the  highway.'  Relative  omitted. 

392.     stage?     Child,  early  edition  (with?),  —  'story  of  a  house.' 

41  4.     Notice  the  plural  iormfrende. 

57  4.     after  the  -way  =  upon  the  way. 

61  ff.  This  account  may  be  compared  with  that  in  '  Adam  Bell,' 
56  ff.,  Child,  Ballads,  V,  25. 

73  4.     Had  the  city  bell  rung,  sounded  an  alarm. 

77  4.  A  fragment  (b),  of  same  date  with  text,  reads  here  :  Quit 
me,  which  gives  a  better  meaning. 

80  4.     'I  care  to  be  no  other.'     No  noder  — none  other. 

90  3.  Prayers  were  common  at  the  end  of  a  story  ;  cf.  Chaucer, 
Nonne  Prestes  Tale,  end,  Otterburn,  Cheviot,  and  other  ballads,  as 
well  as  the  romances. 


ROBIN    HOOD'S   DEATH. 

Percy  Folio,  ed.  H.-F.,  I,  50  ff. ;  Child,  Ballads,  V,  102.  The  story 
agrees  with  the  conclusion  of  the  Gest,  and  opens  much  as  R.  H. 
and  Monk  opens.  '  The  yeoman  in  stanza  3,'  says  Professor  Child, 
'should  be  Red  Roger;  but  a  suspicion  has  more  than  once  come 
over  me  that  the  beginning  of  this  ballad  has  been  affected  by  some 
version  of  Guy  of  Gisborne? 

1  3.  Churchlees.  See  note,  Gest,  451  3.  H.-F.  quote  Drayton, 
Polyolbion,  of  the  Calder: 

It  chanced  she  in  her  course  on  Kirkley  cast  her  eye, 
Where  merry  Robin  Hood,  that  honest  thief,  doth  lie. 

For  traditions,  epitaphs,  etc.,  see  Child,  Ballads,  V,  103  f.,  107,  and 
H.-F.,  Fol.,  I,  51  ff. 


NOTES.  323 

6  1.     you'st  =  you  shall,  you  must. 

7  2.     Shot  by  turns. 

7  4.     laid=  elliptical  construction  :  '  and  a  plank  was  laid  over  it.' 

9.  Half  a  page  of  the  MS.  is  missing, —  say  nine  stanzas, —  which 
must  have  told  why  the  old  woman  was  cursing  Robin,  and  must  have 
mentioned  other  people  who  were  blessing  him  or  weeping  for  him. 

14  2.     '  In  that  same  time.' —  Furnivall. 

18.  John  calls  from  outside.  Another  half-page  is  missing  here. 
Professor  Child  supposes  an  altercation  to  take  place  between  Robin 
and  Red  Roger,  who  is  below;  so  that  when  Robin  slips  out  of  the 
window,  Roger  wounds  him.  John  is  probably  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house. 

23  1.  Mood  hardly  means  'help'  or  'courage,'  as  Furnivall  sug- 
gests. It  must  have  something  to  do  with  the  '  houzle.'  Professor 
Child  conjectured  'Give  me  my  God!'  (Ballads,  V,  103,  note),  but 
without  confidence.  He  is  now  inclined,  however,  to  think  this  the 
right  reading,  relying  on  an  equivalent  phrase  in  the  Romaunt  of  the 
Rose  (ed.  Morris,  v.  6436), ' yeve  me  my  savyour?  meaning  (cf.  v.  6440) 
the  '  housele.' 

27  4.     Again  a  half-page  is  missing. 


THE   BATTLE   OF   OTTERBURN. 

This  fine  ballad,  based  upon  an  incident  of  a  Scottish  invasion  of 
England  in  1388,  tempts  to  notes  and  comment  beyond  our  limits 
of  space,  and  we  must  refer  the  reader  to  Professor  Child's  admirable 
summary,  Ballads,  VI,  289  ff.,  while  we  give  the  barest  outline. 
There  are  several  versions  ;  this  (A)  is  incomparably  the  best,  and 
is  based  upon  two  MSS.  in  the  British  Museum,  the  better  text 
dating  from  about  1550.  An  account  of  the  battle,  derived  from 
men  who  fought  in  it,  is  given  by  Froissart  (ed.  Kervyn  de  Letten- 
hove,  XIII,  214  ff.);  see  the  translation  of  Lord  Berners,  Pynson, 
1525,  vol.  II,  ch.  42  ff.,  fo.  clvii  ff.  See  also  Harding's  Chronicle, 
ch.  190,  ed.  1812,  p.  342,  and  Wyntoun's  Cronykil,  ed.  Laing,  III, 
32  ff.  The  date  of  the  battle  was  August  (probably  the  igth  :  Child, 
VI,  292,  and  note),  1388.  Otterburn  is  thirty  miles  northwest  from 
Newcastle,  in  the  parish  of  Elsdon.  The  field  of  the  fight  '  is  still 
called  Battle  Riggs ':  see  Percy's  Reliques,  ed.  Wheatley,  I,  42. 

1  l.     Lamasse  =  loaf-mass,  August  i. 

1  3.  This  refers  to  the  Scottish  detachment  which  ravaged  about 
Newcastle,  and  at  last  fought  the  battle  of  Otterburn.  They  were 


324  NOTES. 

commanded  by  James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  and  others,  and  numbered 
two  or  three  thousand. 

2  1.     The  Earl  of  Fife,  son  of  the  Scottish  king,  with  the  main 
army,  was  harrying  in   the  northwest  of  England,  about  Carlisle. 
He  then  passed  over  Solway  Frith. 

3.  'The  several  stations  here  mentioned  are  well-known  places 
in  Northumberland.' —  Percy.—  Hoppertope  =  Ottercap. 

3  4.     Styrande  (=  stirring),  present  participle;  cf.  dyghtande,  Gest, 
388  4.     MS.,  '  Many  a  styrande,'  which  moved  Motherwell  unneces- 
sarily to  make  stage  =  'stallion.' 

4  3.     Shows  the  English  origin  (or  adaptation  :  discussed  by  Child, 
VI,  293)  of  this  version.     See  35. 

5  1.     Phrases  of  this  kind  (bent=  field)  may  be  compared  with 
the  iveox  under  ivolcnum  of  older  epic  (Beowulf,  v.  8  =  '  grew  under 
welkin,'  on  earth). 

6  1.     Bamborowe.     See  note,  Cheviot,  3  4. 

7  2.     See  Knighfs  Tale,  v.  1 1 7  ff. 

8  1.     Syr  Henry  Perssye.     This  is  the  famous  Hotspur,  killed  at 
Shrewsbury  fight,  fifteen  years  after  Otterburn.     He  is  said  'to  have 
been  appointed  Governor  of  Berwick  and  Warden  of  the  Marches 
in  1385.' 

82.  A  patch-verse :  see  18  2,  40  2,  and  Gest,  322  2,  with  other 
cases  noted  above. 

9  2.     On  hyght  =  aloud. 

10  4.     In  a  satirical  sense. 

12  4.      The  tone  =  the  one. 

13  4.     '  The  "  hygh  way  "  is  the  old  Watling-street  road.' —  Percy. 
15  l.     tkey  =  either  an  interpolation,  or  'the,'  ethical  dative. 

24  4.     A  b  reads  'gare  me  out  to  dyne.'     Child  (1860),  VII,  323, 
explains  :  'give  one  his  fill  of  fighting.'     Out  =  aught. 

25  2.     lesse  —  leas  =  lie,  falsehood ;  cf.  '  leasing '  in  the  Bible. 
26.     See  Child,  VI,  293  f.     Mentaye  =  Menteith. 

27  l.     Bowghan  =  Buchan. 

29  4.     'I  will  keep  my  promise  ' :  that  =  what. 

32-33.  See  The  Battle  of  Maldon,  v.  2  ff.;  and  Freeman,  Airman 
Conquest,  III,  472  :  at  the  battle  of  Senlac,  '  Omnes  descendunt  et 
equos  post  terga  relinquunt,' — said  of  the  Saxons. 

37.  The  Earl  of  Northumberland,  remaining  at  Alnwick,  had 
sent  his  sons  to  Newcastle  to  look  after  Douglas  and  his  detach- 
ment. 

42  4.     -with  =  by. 

44  2.     Cross  himself  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity. 


NOTES.  325 

45.  '  The  crowned   harte,  and  Above  stode   starres  thre,'  says 
Percy,  would  be  an  exact  description  of  the  Douglas  arms  '  at  this 
day.' 

46.  The  Percy  arms. 

47  l.     St.  Andrew,  of  course,  for  Scotland. 

47  3.  '  Fixed  their  eyes  on,  took  aim  at.'  —  Child,  Ballads  (1860), 
VII,  326. 

48.     On  '  our  ladies  knyght,'  see  Child,  VI,  294,  520. 

50.  This  is  the  English  account;  but  Froissart  and  the  Scots 
say  Douglas  was  killed  in  the  confusion  of  the  night  attack. 

50  3.     whyll  that  the  =  '  until  they.' 

50  3,  4.     See  note,  Cheviot,  31  3,  4. 

63  3.     Fitz-Hugh. 

67  3.     See  As  You  Like  It,  ii,  4  :  ' .  .  .  said  with  weeping  tears.' 

69  4.     Was  exchanged  for  Percy. 


THE    HUNTING   OF   THE   CHEVIOT. 

There  are  two  versions  of  this  ballad.  The  younger  and  more 
corrupted  version  (Chevy  Chace)  is  the  one  which  Addison  criticised, 
with  so  much  praise,  in  the  Spectator  (70,  74);  it  was  common  in 
broadsides,  and  enormously  popular  throughout  England.  The 
older  and  better  version,  which  we  print  here,  is  from  a  MS.  in  the 
Bodleian  Library:  see  Skeat,  Specimens  of  English  Literature  from 
the  'Ploughman's  Crede'1  to  the  ' Shepheardes  Calender?  1881,  67  ff., 
and  Child,  Ballads,  VI,  303  ff.  Both  versions  were  printed  by  Percy 
in  the  Reliques.  The  name  of  Richard  Sheale,  who  sang  and  wrote 
ballads  early  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  reign,  is  written  at  the  end  of 
the  MS.  of  the  older  version,  but,  of  course,  merely  as  the  signature 
of  the  transcriber.  —  As  regards  the  ballad  itself,  it  has  manifold 
points  of  contact  with  Otterburn,  and  is  probably  a  later  and  con- 
fused account  of  the  same  fight,  a  hunt  in  Scotland  being  substituted 
for  a  raid  in  England.  See,  for  this  and  other  details,  Child,  VI, 
304,  and  H.-F.,  Percy  Folio,  II,  4  ff.  Sidney's  famous  praise  of  '  the 
olde  song  of  Percy  and  Duglas '  (see  Defense  of  Poesy,  ed.  Cook, 
p.  29)  is  generally  referred  to  this  ballad,  though,  as  Professor  Child 
remarks,  it  would  fit  Otterburn  as  well  in  all  respects  save  that  of 
poetic  merit,  where  Cheviot  has  some  advantage. 

1  2.  And  avowe  may  =  '  an  aVowe  '  =  a  vow;  or  else,  as  is  sug- 
gested, we  may  supply  '  came  '  before  '  out.'  Cf.  '  Stand  fast,  Titinius  : 


326  NOTES. 

we  must  out  and  talk.'  —  Shakspere,  Jul.  Caes.,  v,  i,  22.  Up  is 
similarly  used  without  a  verb,  as,  '  When  this  was  don  this  Pandare 
up  anoon.  .  .  .  and  forth  gan  for  to  wende.'  —  Chaucer,  Troilus, 
ii,  214. 

3  3.     off  blood  and  bone  is  superfluous. 

3  4.     Shyars  thre,  '  meaning,  probably,  three  districts  in  Northum- 
berland, which  still  go  by  the  name  of  shires,  and  are  all  in  the 
neighborhood   of   Cheviot.      These  are  hlandshire  .  .   .  Noreham- 
shire  .  .  .  and  Bamboroughshire,  the  ward  or  hundred  belonging  to 
Bamboro  ugh -castle  and  town.' —  Percy. 

4  3,  4.     See  51  3,  4. 

7  3.     be  that  =  when. 

8,  9,  are  connected  by  rime  into  one  stanza ;  '  to  this  standard 
the  whole  poem  may  have  been  intended  to  conform,'  says  Skeat, 
Spec.,  p.  394.  See  also  3,  4 ;  5,  6;  15-16;  18-19;  25-26;  27-28; 
29-30;  31-32  ;  33-34;  36-37  ;  38-39;  40,  41  ;  42,  43;  44,  45  ;  48, 
49;  50,  51;  52,  53;  54,  55,  56;  63-64.  See  also  other  connections 
by  rime,  as  13,  14 ;  65,  66. 

8  2.     They  came  up  from  all  sides.      The  =  they ;  shear,  for  sere 
= '  several.' 

10  2.     Observed  near  at  hand. 

12  4.      Tividale  =  Teviotdale.     So  Chevy  =  Cheviot. 

13  2.     boys  =  bowys  =  bows. 

13  3.  On  =  of.     See  45  4  and  46  2. 

15  3.  Chays  =  hunting-ground.     '  Common  in  local  names.' 

194.  a^  =  'let  us  do.'  Let  our  men  all  stand  aside  while  we 
fight. 

21  4.  On  =  one. 

22  2.  See  Percy's  note. 

24  2.  fynde  may  be  a  corruption  of  fyne,  that  is,  '  end,  finish,' 
with  d  inserted  by  copyist  for  the  safte  of  the  rime. 

264.  wouche,  'also  spelt  wough  .  .  .  A.-S.  look,'  rimes  correctly 
with  yenoughe. 

30  2.  .  Many  bold  ones  (sterne)  they  struck  down. 

31  3,  4.       See    Otterburn,    50  3,  4.      Myllan  =  Milan    steel ;     see 
'  Cologne '  in  Otterburn.      Tylle  (until)  and  -whyll  (while)  are  occa- 
sionally confused  in  meaning  :  see  Sir  A.  Barton,  66  4. 

36  2.  wane  =  multitude,  says  Skeat,  hence  '  a  single  arrow  out  of 
a  vast  quantity';  but  this  goes  ill  with  'folke.'  Wane  might  = 
wane  (see  47  1 )  =  one  :  '  a  mighty  one  ' ;  but  this  is  unsatisfactory. 

38.     Addison  compared  Vergil,  ^En.,  x,  821  ff. 


NOTES.  327 

At  vero  ut  voltum  vidit  morientis  et  ora, 

Ora  modis  Anchisiades  pallentia  miris, 

Ingemuit  miserans  graviter,  dextramque  tetendit.  .  .  . 

39.  When  Lessing  heard  of  Winckelmann's  death,  he  wrote  to 
Nicolai  :  '  That  is  the  second  man  of  letters,  within  a  short  time,  to 
whom  I  would  gladly  have  given  a  few  years  of  my  own  life.' 

40  2.     Montgomery. 

40  4.     Skeat  reads  '  a  spear  a  [=  of]  trust!  tre.' 

44  2.     '  Saw  [that]  slain  was,'  etc. 

45  2.     Stele.     He  pulled  the  arrow  to  its  [steel]  head. 

49  1.  'They  took'  .  .  .  Words  are  missing  in  the  MS.,  and 
Skeat  supplies  '  the  fight,'  =  they  fought.  Child,  early  edition, 
suggested  '  rest.'  Could  it  be  '  they  took  them  off,'  took  themselves 
off,  retreated  ?  See  50. 

53.     Loumle  =  Lumley ;  Raff  =  Ralph. 

54  3,  4.     See  parallels,  Child  VI,  306;  VITI,  502. 

553.     Lwdale,  in  later  version  =  Lambwell. 

56  1.     Sir  Charles  of  Murray. 

57.     Compare  Otterburn,  67. 

59  2.     James  I. 

61  l.     Lovely  London.     See  Child,  VI,  306. 

62.  Addison  pointed  out  the  difference,  not  only  in  numbers 
slain,  but  in  the  replies  of  James  and  Henry,  due  to  the  patriotism 
of  an  English  singer. 

63  4.     There  was  a  battle  of  Homildon,  resulting  in  victory  for 
the  English,  in   1402;    though  the  Percy  of  Otterburn  and  Cheviot 
fought  in  it. 

64  3.     Glendale   is  the  district   or  ward   in  which   Homildon  is 
situated.  —  Percy. 

65  2.     Skeat  says  this  is  a  proverb  :  '  That  tear,  or  pull,  brought 
about  this  kick.'     But  this  is  extremely  doubtful  :    see  Child,  VI, 
307,  who  suggests  [Alas]  '  that  e'er  began  this  spurn ;  or  possibly 
that  tear  is  for  that  there,  meaning  simply  there.' —  The  MS.  has 
Expliceth  [=  explicit],  quoth  Rychard  Sheale. 


KINMONT    WILLIE. 

A  traditional  ballad  of  the  border,  based  upon  an  occurrence  in 
1596,  first  printed  by  Scott  in  his  Minstrelsy,  and  upon  his  own 
testimony  rescued  by  more  or  less  emendation  from  a  '  mangled ' 
state.  It  is  impossible  to  say  just  how  much  is  tradition,  and  how 


328  NOTES. 

much  is  due  to  Scott.  For  the  historical  and  personal  references, 
see  Child,  Ballads,  VI,  469  ff.  Kinmont  Willie  was  William 
Armstrong,  or  « Will  of  Kinmonth.'  Lord  Scroop  was  '  Warden 
of  the  West-Marches  of  England';  Salkeld  was  his  deputy.  The 
rescuer  was  Sir  Walter  Scott,  of  Branxholm,  laird  of  Buccleugh. — 
In  the  actual  affair,  no  lives  were  lost. 

1  4.     Hairibee  is  '  the  place  of  execution  at  Carlisle.' 

34.  rac&  =  'A.  very  shallow  ford,  of  considerable  breadth.'  — 
Jamieson. 

18,  19.     Four  squads  of  ten  men  each.    '  Broken  men  '  are  outlaws. 

31  4.  A  favorite  Liddesdale  tune.  See  Chambers,  Book  of  Days, 
I,  200. 


JOHNIE   COCK. 

This  admirable  traditional  ballad,  as  printed  here,  is  made  up  of 
stanzas  from  the  following  versions  (Child,  V,  i  ff.):  D:  1,  2  ;  A:  2, 
3  ;  D :  5,  7 ;  A :  7,  8,  9,  10,  11  ;  D :  12 ;  F :  12 ;  A :  14,  15,  16,  17, 
18,  19,  20,  21.  The  localities,  now  in  Northumberland,  now  in 
Dumfriesshire,  are  confused  ;  and  indeed  import  little  or  nothing. 

5  2.     See  above,  note  to  Gest,  418,  422. 

8  4.     bot  = '  but  '=  also,  besides ;  hot  attd= '  as  well  as.' 

15  3.  It  is  easy  to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  these  things;  but 
the  place  of  affection  assigned  here  and  there  in  the  ballads  to  a 
sister's  son  certainly  deserves  attention  :  see  Cheviot,  55  ;  Sir  A. 
Barton,  55,  a  capital  instance ;  King  Arthur  and  King  Cornwall,  I, 
Child,  II,  283  ;  and  other  places  which  the  editor  has  failed  to  note. 
Tacitus,  Germania,  c.  20,  says  of  the  Germans  that  a  sister's  sons 
stand  with  the  uncle  as  high  as  with  the  father ;  '  some  even  think 
this  tie  of  blood  to  be  holier  and  closer,  and  they  have  regard  to  it 
in  the  choice  of  hostages.'  The  commentators  refer  us  to  an  '  Indo- 
Germanic  law '  ;  but  Lippert's  anthropological  explanation  seems 
more  reasonable, —  that  by  the  old  Mutterrecht,  the  principle  of 
inheritance  through  the  mother,  a  man  '  would  part  more  readily 
from  his  wife's  child  than  from  his  sister's  child ;  for  in  his  eyes 
there  was  more  blood-relationship  with  the  latter.' —  See  the  editor's 
Germanic  Origins,  p.  132. 

17.  Wolves  were  found  in  the  north  of  England  long  after  the 
south  was  clear  of  them. 

20  1.  The  original  has  '  boy ' —  manifestly '  a  corruption  of  "  bird." ' 
(Child.) 


NOTES.  329 


JOHNIE   ARMSTRONG. 

Often  printed,  and  in  another  version  known  as  '  John  Armstrong's 
Last  Good  Night.'  The  Armstrongs  were  a  powerful  border  family, 
on  the  Scottish  side,  to  be  sure,  but  almost  as  troublesome  to  their 
own  king  as  to  the  English.  In  1 530,  James  V.  of  Scotland  under- 
took, with  help  of  his  nobles  and  an  army,  to  put  down  the  lawless- 
ness and  robbery  of  the  border,  in  which  our  hero  was  chief 
offender ;  not,  it  would  seem,  without  artifice,  he  was  persuaded  to 
appear  with  a  few  followers  before  the  king,  and  was  summarily 
hanged.— See  Child,  VI,  362  ff. 

1  l.  Westmoreland  is,  of  course,  impossible;  but  this  is  an 
English  ballad.  The  Armstrongs  were  originally  settled  in  Liddes- 
dale. 

I  3-4.     His  revenues  were  somewhat  like  those  of  Robin  Hood. 

II  3.     The  phrase  is  given  in  a  historical  account  of  this  affair : 
see  Child,  VI,' 365.     It  was  probably  a  favorite  :  see  Mary  Hamilton. 

16.  See  Sir  A.  Barton,  65.  This  stanza  is  taken  from  Child, 
B,  18. 


SIR    ANDREW    BARTON. 

Percy  Folio,  ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  III,  399  ff. ;  Child,  Ballads, 
VI,  334  ff.  Percy  printed  this  ballad  in  the  Reliques,  with  additions 
from  another  version  in  broadside  in  the  Pepys  collection  (Child's 
B,  p.  343  ff.),  and  emendations  of  his  own. —  See  H.-F.,  Folio,  and 
Child's  Ballads  as  above,  for  fuller  historical  references.  Andrew 
Barton,  one  of  three  brothers,  all  '  men  of  note  in  the  naval  history 
of  Scotland,'  had  been  capturing  and  robbing  Portuguese  trading- 
ships,  and  now  (1511)  began  to  rob  English  vessels.  Our  ballad 
tells  the  rest,  with  some  inaccuracies  :  see  Child,  p.  337. 

3  2.  Supplied  by  Percy.  See  Furnivall's  note,  Fol.,  Ill,  404. 
Another  version  (Child,  VIII,  503)  has  :  '  The  best  salers  in  Chris- 
tiantie.' 

7  1.     See  Armstrong,  11. 

8  1.     Lord  Charles  Howard,  a  famous  naval  commander  in  his  day, 
'  was  not  born  till  twenty-five  years  after  the  fight '  described  in  our 
ballad.     Barton  was  captured  by  Lord  Thomas   and   Sir   Edward 
Howard. 


330  NOTES. 


124.     thoust  =  i\\o\i  shalt. 

20  2.  In  this  ludicrous  line,  '  poor  '  has  been  suggested  for 
'pure,'  —  that  is,  'a  weary  heart.'  Another  version  (Child,  VIII, 
504,  21)  has  'woeful  hart  and  a  sorrowefull  minde.' 

23  3.  In  the  MS.  archborde.  —  H.-F.,  Folio,  III,  407,  and  in  the 
Glossary,  make  archborde  =  '  ship,  or  side  of  a  ship.'  See,  however, 
36  1,  70  2  ;  and  in  29  2  charke-bord  (MS.)  may  also  be  read  hachbord, 
as  hall  may  be  hull  (Child,  VI,  334,  note),  so  as  to  mean  :  '  if  his  beams 
hit  your  deck,'  —  that  is,  the  timber  of  or  about  the  hatches,  —  'or 
your  hull.'  Barton's  body  (70  2)  is  cast  over  the  '  hatch-bord  '  into 
the  sea  ;  and  Professor  Kittredge  quotes  Batayle  of  Egyngecourte, 
109  f.,  Hazlitt,  Early  Pop.  Poetry,  III,  97  : 

With  theyr  takyls  they  launched  many  a  longe  bote, 
And  over  hache  threw  them  into  the  streame. 

27  2.  beanies.  —  Another  nautical  puzzle.  The  MS.  has  beaues  or 
beancs.  Percy  changed  to  beams,  and  remarked  the  similarity  of 
the  old  '  Dolphins  made  of  lead  or  iron  .  .  .  which  [the  ancient 
Greeks]  suspended  from  beams  or  yards  fastened  to  the  mast  and 
which  they  precipitately  let  fall  on  the  enemies'  ships.'  The  top-castle 
is  properly  'a  stage  at  the  very  tip  of  the  mast  ';  but  might,  of  course, 
be  lower.  See  Professor  Child's  note,  p.  337.  The  point  is  that 
Lord  Howard  must  at  any  risk  keep  Barton's  men  out  of  this  top- 
castle,  and  so  escape  all  havoc  wrought  by  the  beams. 

29  2.  See  note  on  23  3.  In  a  version  from  a  MS.  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  printed  by  Professor  Child,  Ballads,  VIII,  502  ff.,  these 
lines  read  (st.  30)  : 

Were  yowe  twentie  shippes,  my  lorde, 

As  your  Honor  is  but  one, 
Ethere  bye  lerbord  or  by  lowe 

That  Scootte  would  overcome  yowe,  everye  one. 

Professor  Child  suggests  that  lowe  may  =  hull. 
32  4.     glasse,  perhaps  a  lantern  ;  but  this  is  doubtful. 

35.  peeces  =  guns. 

36.  In  the  version  referred  to  above  (Child,  VIII,  504),  stanza  38 
runs  as  follows  : 

A  larborde,  wher  Sir  Andrew  laye, 

They  saide  he  tould  his  gold  in  the  light  ; 
'  Now  by  my  faith,'  saide  my  lord  Charles  Howarde, 

'  I  se  yonne  Scootte,  a  worthe  wight.' 


NOTES.  331 

As  '  larborde '  here  =  '  hache-bord  '  in  our  version,  we  have  addi- 
tional reason  to  make  the  change  in  29  2. 

43  4.  Nine  yards  of  chain.  —  At  this  point  the  ballad  'strikes  its 
pace,'  and  the  description  of  the  fight  is  admirable  and  clear,  pro- 
vided one  does  not  consider  too  curiously  the  working  of  the  beams. 

472.  Weate? — See  VIII,  505,  51  2  :  'I  like  not  of  this  geare, 
said  he ';  and  66  2 :  '  For  howe  soe  ever  this  geare  doth  goe.' 

53  1.  Swarved.  Perhaps  swarmd  (=  climbed),  as  in  VIII,  505,  56. 
—  So,  too,  56  1. 

53  3.  Bearing  arrow  =  one  meant  for  long  range,  one  that  carries 
well,  like  the  'broad'  arrow  below.  See  VIII,  505,  56:  'broode- 
headed  arrow.' 

55  2.     See  note,  Cock,  15  3. 

64  3,  4.  Jacke  is  a  leather  coat.  The  direction  of  the  arrow 
might  be  such  as  to  reach  the  brain.  In  the  other  versions  Sir 
Andrew  is  shot  through  the  heart. 

65.  See  Armstrong,  16. 

66.  Till=  while; '  during  the  time  that ':  Jamieson,  citing  Barbour. 
71  3.     Another  version  more  sensibly  brings  them  home  July  2oth  : 

VIII,  506,  74  4. 


BROWN    ROBYN'S    CONFESSION. 

First  printed  by  Buchan,  Ballads  of  the  North  of  Scotland.  See 
Child,  III,  13  ff.,  and  his  remarks  on  the  unique  character  of  the 
ballad  in  English. 

2  l.  kevels  =  lots,  originally  blocks  or  staves  of  wood,  properly 
marked ;  see  a  description  of  the  process  of  divination,  Tacitus, 
Germania,  c.  10.  In  an  Anglo-Saxon  charm  against  poisons  (Wiilker- 
Grein,  Bibliothek,  I,  320  ff.),  Woden  takes  nine  '  Wonder-Twigs.' — 
See  also  the  '  black  bullet '  which  decided  Bonnie  Annie's  fate  as 
causing  trouble  on  shipboard  :  Bonnie  Annie,  Child,  I,  245. 

3.  In  the  omitted  lines  Brown  Robyn  confesses  certain  monstrous 
crimes. 


SIR   PATRICK   SPENS. 

Often  printed  :  see  Child,  III,  17  ff.,  for  particulars.  This  is  the 
version  of  the  Rcliques,  and  loses  nothing  by  its  brevity.  The  ballad 
may  be  founded  on  actual  fact,  but  it  points  to  no  definite  and 


332  NOTES. 

unmistakable  occurrence.  Professor  Child  calls  attention  to  the 
delicacy  and  beauty  of  stanzas  9,  10.  Praise  of  the  ballad  itself  is 
superfluous. 

1  l.     Dunfermline  palace. 

3  1.  'A  braid  letter,  i.e.,  open  or  patent;  in  opposition  to  close 
rolls.' —  Percy. 

5.  Percy  calls  attention  to  a  law  of  James  III.  forbidding  ships 
with  certain  cargoes  to  sail  between  October  28  and  February  2. 

7.  It  is  the  sight  of  the  new  moon  'late,  late  yestreen,'  which 
makes  the  bad  omen  :  Child,  p.  18. 

8  4.     '  Floated  on  the  water.' 


CAPTAIN   CAR,   OR   EDOM    O   GORDON. 

We  now  enter  upon  the  particular  or  domestic  cycle  of  border- 
ballads.  Otterburn  and  Cheviot  were  international.  —  Printed  here 
from  a  MS.  (late  sixteenth  century)  in  the  British  Museum,  as  given 
by  Child,  Ballads,  VI,  430  f.,  with  substitution  of  19  4,  23  3,  from 
B,  the  version  of  the  Percy  Folio,  ed.  H.-F.,  I,  79  ff.,  and  of  20  from 
F,  Child,  VI,  435.  —  Adam  Gordon,  a  deputy  of  the  Scottish  queen 
Mary,  in  November,  1571,  sent  one  Captain  Ker  to  the  house  of 
one  of  the  Forbeses,  a  family  attached  to  the  protestant  or  regent's 
party.  Captain  Ker  demanded  surrender  ;  the  lady  of  the  house 
refused ;  and  thereupon  he  burned  down  the  house,  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  inmates,  whose  numbers  are  variously  given.  —  For  the 
particulars,  see  Child,  as  above,  p.  424  ff.  —  As  Chambers  pointed 
out,  Gordon,  being  held  responsible  for  the  act  of  his  subordinate, 
was  in  some  ballads  treated  as  the  principal  actor  himself. —  Chappell, 
I,  226,  gives  the  tune  of  this  ballad  and  refrain. 

2  1.     We  are  ready  to  go  whither  you  please. 

4  4.     towne,  in  the  old  sense  of  an  enclosed  place. 

8  4.     That  is,  he  will  legally  marry  her  :  see  D,  7. 

22  1.  Evidently  a  former  retainer  or  servant  who  has  shown  Car 
how  to  come  at  the  house. 

24  3.     in  close  ==  in  a  narrow  place,  in  extremities. 

25.     Lord  Hamilton  is  a  blunder  for  one  of  the  Forbeses. 

28  4.     Add  away  ?     Quite  =  free,  clear,  '  quit.' 


NOTES.  333 


THE   BARON   OF   BRACKLEY. 

See  Child,  Ballads,  VII,  84,  printed  from  Laing's  Scarce  Ancient 
Ballads,  1822.  —  The  ballad  is  based  upon  a  Scottish  feud  and  its 
culmination,  September,  1666  :  for  particulars  see  Child,  p.  So  ff. — 
Probably  there  were  two  ballads  of  this  name,  for  a  Baron  of 
Brackley  was  killed  in  1592,  an  old  man,  in  his  own  house,  while 
dispensing  hospitality  to  his  murderers.  Professor  Child  leans  to 
the  assumption  of  two  ballads  (as  above,  p.  83) ;  and  we  seem  to 
have  a  confusion  of  them  at  the  opening  of  this  version.  The 
editor  has  therefore  omitted  5-10,  which  run  as  follows  : 

5.  Out  spak  the  brave  baronne,  owre  the  castell-wa : 
'  Are  ye  cum  to  spulyie  and  plunder  mi  ha  ? 

6.  '  But  gin  ye  be  gentlemen,  licht  and  cum  in  : 

Gin  ye  drink  o  my  wine,  ye'll  nae  gar  my  bluid  spin. 

7.  '  Gin  ye  be  hir'd  widifus,  ye  may  gang  by, 

Ye  may  gang  to  the  lawlands  and  steal  their  fat  ky. 

8.  '  Ther  spulyie  like  reivers  o  wyld  kettrin  clan, 

Who  plunder  unspairing  baith  houses  and  Ian. 

9.  '  Gin  ye  be  gentlemen,  licht  and  cum  in, 

Ther's  meat  an  drink  i  my  ha  for  every  man. 

10.  '  Gin  ye  be  hir'd  widifus,  ye  may  gang  by, 

Gang  down  to  the  lawlands,  and  steal  horse  and  ky.' 


These  stanzas  belong  to  a  ballad  of  a  good  old  man,  with  a  false 
young  wife;  whereas  the  following  seem  to  involve  a  brave  but 
sluggard  husband,  and  an  energetic  wife.  Moreover,  in  our  5,  the 
'Get  up,  get  up,'  and  the  laconic  foreboding  reply,  do  not  accord 
with  the  previous  garrulity  of  the  talk  over  the  castle-wall.  The 
Baron  surely  does  not  speak  from  his  bed.  See  also  versions  C  and 
D,  Child,  as  above;  and  Mr.  Macmath's  note,  VIII,  522. 

3  2.     See  Hen,  V,  iv,  2,  10  :  '  That  their  hot  blood  may  spin.' 
8l.     Marys  —  handmaids,  like  the  later  'Abigail.'     Cf.  Queen's 
Maries  in  Mary  Hamilton,  note  to  3,  17. 
35.     See  Armstrong,  17. 


334  NOTES. 


THE    BONNY    EARL   OF   MURRAY. 

Printed  in  the  ^cliques,  and  often ;  Child,  VI,  447  ff.  James 
Stewart,  Earl  of  Murray,  was  killed  by  the  Earl  of  Huntly's 
followers,  February,  1592. 

2.     This  is  said,  of  course,  by  the  king. 

3  2.  Riding  at  the  ring,  or  piercing  with  a  lance  a  suspended  ring 
as  one  rode  at  full  speed.  See  Strutt,  Sports  and  Pastimes,  Bk.  iii, 
1 2,  and  on  the  quintain,  iii,  2  f .  'At  the  commencement  of  the 
seventeenth  century,'  says  Strutt,  '  the  pastime  of  running  at  the 
ring  was  reduced  to  a  science.'  For  the  implied  connection  here 
with  the  queen's  love,  cf.  the  well-known  lines  of  another  Scottish 
noble  (Palgrave's  Golden  Treasury,  cxxxiii,  p.  152): 

For  you  alone  1  ride  the«ring, 

For  you  1  wear  the  blue, 
For  you  alone  I  strive  to  sing,  — 

O  tell  me  how  to  woo ! 

5  2.     '  To  claim  a  glove  worn  as  a  lady's  favor,  was  a  form  of 
challenge,  —  which  is  perhaps  the  reference  here.'  —  Child,  Ballads 
(1860),  VII,  324. 

6  2.     Murray's  father  was  Sir  James  Stewart,  of  Doune.  —  The 
murdered  man  was  handsome,  strong,  and  exceedingly  popular. 


YOUNG   WATERS. 

Reliqiies;  Child,  IV,  342  f. 

1  2.  Tables,  a  sort  of  backgammon,  was  wery  popular  even  in  the 
1 3th  century;  and  the  round-tables,  that  is,  an  in-door  recreation, 
may  have  been  something  of  the  sort.  See  Strutt,  Sports  and 
Pastimes,  p.  419. 

3  3.     For  burning,  '  burned  '  =  burnished,  has  been  suggested. 


MARY    HAMILTON. 

For  the  numerous  versions  of  this  fine  ballad  see  Child,  VI, 
379  ff.,  and  VIII,  507  ff.  —  The  occurrence  on  which  it  is  based 
seems  to  have  taken  place  at  the  Russian  court  in  the  time  of  Peter 


NOTES.  335 

the  Great  (Child,  VI,  382  ff.),  while  the  names  and  the  treatment  are 
distinctly  Scottish.  The  ballad,  says  Professor  Child,  must  have 
arisen  between  1719  and  1764. 

1.  A  common  form  :  see  Lady  Maisry,  version  H,  2,  Child,  Part 
III,  122,  where  in  a  similar  case, — 

Word's  gane  to  her  mother's  kitchen, 
And  to  her  father's  ha.  ... 

2.  Child-murder  led  to  the  death  of  Russian  Mary  Hamilton  ; 
but  the  ballad  is  thinking  of  the  old  exposure  or  '  exposition '  of 
infants.     In  some  other  versions  Mary  kills  the  baby  outright ;  but 
in  Y  (VIII,  512)  5: 

I  put  it  in  a  bottomless  boat 
And  bad  it  sail  the  sea. 

See  also  U,  14  :  VIII,  509. 

3.  The  '  auld '  queen  is  Mary  of  Scotland,  who  has  four  Maries 
in  waiting  upon  her :  see  the  final  stanza.     The  king  is  presumably 
Darnley. 

6  3.  In  the  Russian  account,  Mary  dresses  in  white  silk,  '  hoping 
thereby  to  touch  Peter's  heart ' :  Child,  VI,  383.  See  Fair  Mary, 
E,  4,  Child,  IV,  315. 

10.  So  far  we  have  followed  Version  A,  but  this  stanza  is  E,  13. 
See  also  Armstrong,  11 ;  and  Scott,  Minstrelsy,  I,  20,  note. 

15  2.  held  M/  =  took  up,  recognized  as  his  child  by  lifting  her  in 
his  arms.  Saxo  Grammaticus,  speaking  of  a  child  whom  a  man 
had  begotten,  uses  the  phrase  '  quem  sustulerat.'  See  the  editor's 
Germanic  Origins,  p.  189. 

17.  For  Maries,  see  Lass  of  Rochroyal,  B,  8,  9,  Child,  III,  218. 
As  name  for  ladies'  maids,  see  Brackley,  8,  and  Willie  and  Lady 
Maisry,  B,  13,  III,  169. 


BONNIE   GEORGE    CAMPBELL. 

This  is  Motherwell's  combination  of  several  versions,  Minstrelsy, 
Amer.  ed.  I,  194. — With  questionable  propriety  Allingham  has 
distorted  the  refrain  'for  rhyme's  sake,'  reading  'gallant  to  see'  for 
'gallant  rade  he,'  and  'wi  boots  to  the  knee'  and  'careless  and  free' 
for  the  'booted  rade  he'  of  4  and  6.  See  The  Ballad  Book,  Amer. 
ed.,  pp.  236  f.,  386. 


336  NOTES. 


BESSY    BELL   AND    MARY   GRAY. 

Founded  on  an  actual  event  during  the  plague,  near  Perth,  in  1645. 
See  Professor  Child's  interesting  account,  VII,  75  f. 
3  3.     The  proper  name  is  Dranoch  Haugh. 
3  4.     '  To  bake  against  (in  the  rays  of)  the  sun.' 


SIR    HUGH. 

An  old  ballad,  often  printed,  and  based  on  an  alleged  murder 
which  took  place  in  1255.  See  contemporary  and  other  records, 
Child,  V,  235  ff.  A  similar  story  is  told  in  the  Prioresses  Tale  of 
Chaucer. 

1  3.     him  :  dative  of  subject  with  verbs  of  motion. 

8.     See  Death  of  Robin  Hood,  17. 


THE   THREE    RAVENS. 

Not  as  well  known  as  the  counterpart  or  perhaps  parody  of  this 
ballad,  The  Twa  Corbies,  which  is  in  many  of  the  anthologies.  See 
Child,  I,  253  f.  In  Motherwell's  Minstrelsy,  Amer.  ed.,  II,  270, 
there  is  a  different  refrain. 

4  2.     keepe  =  guard. 

6l.  Cf.  102. — Leman  (lief -man,  dear  one)  has  no  offensive 
suggestion. 

82.  earthen  lake  =  l shroud  of  earth.'  Lake  =  winding  sheet, 
shroud.  Cf.  Sweet  William's  Ghost,  15  : 

'  Cold  meal  (=  mould)  is  my  covering  owre, 
But  an  my  winding  sheet.' 

9  1.     Prime  =  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


LORD    RANDAL. 

This  is  Scott's  familiar  version  in  the  Minstrelsy.  Other  versions 
add  a  dialogue,  like  that  of  Ed-ward  and  The  Cruel  Brother,  in 
which  Lord  Randal  leaves  to  his  mother  his  cattle,  to  his  sister  his 


NOTES.  337 

gold  and  silver,  to  his  brother  his  houses  and  lands,  and  to  his  true- 
love  'hell  and  fire.'  The  many  and  widely  distributed  versions  of 
this  ballad  deserve  attention  ;  and  the  student  should  read  Professor 
Child's  exhaustive  study  of  them  and  the  related  ballads  of  Europe, 
Ballads,  I,  151  ff. 

The  group  of  ballads  involving  a  domestic  tragedy  through  faith- 
les'sness  or  folly  of  true-love,  as  here,  of  mother  (Edward),  of 
brother,  of  sister,  of  father  (Bewick  and  Grahame),  and  of  husband 
(Clerk  Colven),  must  be  completed  by  the  ballad  of  the  false  wife  and 
the  ballad  of  the  false  servant.  Little  Musgrave  and  Lady  Barnard 
and  Glasgerion,  admirable  both,  were  omitted  for  obvious  reasons 
from  the  text,  but  are  given  here,  with  slight  omissions  and  no 
change  or  addition,  in  order  that  the  cycle  may  be  complete.  See 
Child,  III,  244  ff.,  138  ff.  Several  versions  are  used  here. 


LITTLE   MUSGRAVE  AND   LADY    BARNARD. 

1.  As  it  fell  one  holy-day, 

Hay  downe, 

As  many  be  in  the  yeare, 
When  young  men  and  maids  together  did  goe 
Their  mattins  and  masse  to  heare, 

2.  Little  Musgrave  came  to  the  church-dore ; 

The  preist  was  at  private  masse ; 
But  he  had  more  minde  of  the  faire  women 
Than  he  had  of  our  lady  grace. 

3.  The  one  of  them  was  clad  in  green, 

Another  was  clad  in  pall ; 
And  then  came  in  my  lord  Barnard's  wife, 
The  fairest  amongst  them  all. 

4.  She  cast  an  eye  on  little  Musgrave, 

As  bright  as  the  summer  sun  ; 
And  then  bethought  this  Little  Musgrave, 
'  This  lady's  heart  have  I  woonn.' 

5.  Quoth  she, '  I  have  loved  thee,  Little  Musgrave, 

Full  long  and  many  a  day  ; ' 

'  So  have  I  loved  you,  fair  lady, 

Yet  never  word  durst  I  say.' 

6.  '  I  have  a  bower  at  Buckelsfordbery, 

Full  daintyly  it  is  deight ; 

If  thou  wilt  wend  thither,  thou  Little  Musgrave, 
Thou's  lig  in  mine  armes  all  night.' 


338  NOTES. 

7.  Quoth  he, '  I  thank  yee,  fair  lady, 

This  kindnes  thou  showest  to  me ; 
But  whether  it  be  to  my  weal  or  woe, 
This  night  I  will  lig  with  thee.' 

8.  With  that  he  heard,  a  little  tyne  page, 

By  his  ladye's  coach  as  he  ran : 
'  All  though  I  am  my  ladye's  foot-page, 
Yet  I  am  Lord  Barnard's  man. 

9.  '  My  lord  Barnard  shall  knowe  of  this, 

Whether  I  sink  or  swim  ; ' 
And  ever  where  the  bridges  were  broake 
He  laid  him  downe  to  swimme. 

10.  'A  sleepe  or  wake,  thou  Lord  Barnard, 

As  thou  art  a  man  of  life, 
For  Little  Musgrave  is  at  Bucklesfordbery, 
A  bed  with  thy  own  wedded  wife.' 

11.  'If  this  be  true,  thou  little  tinny  page, 

This  thing  thou  tellest  to  me, 
Then  all  the  land  in  Bucklesfordbery 
I  freely  will  give  to  thee. 

12.  '  But  if  it  be  a  ly,  thou  little  tinny  page. 

This  thing  thou  tellest  to  me, 
On  the  hyest  tree  in  Bucklesfordbery 
Then  hanged  shalt  thou  be.' 

13.  He  called  up  his  merry  men  all : 

'  Come  saddle  me  my  steed ; 
This  night  must  I  to  Bucklesfordbery, 
For  I  never  had  greater  need.' 

14.  And  some  of  them  whistld,  and  some  of  them  sung 

And  some  these  words  did  say, 
And  ever  when  my  lord  Barnard's  horn  blew, 
1  Away,  Musgrave,  away  ! ' 

15.  '  Methinks  I  hear  the  thresel-cock, 

•  Methinks  I  hear  the  jaye ; 
Methinks  I  hear  my  Lord  Barnard, 
And  I  would  I  were  away ! ' 

16.  '  Lye  still,  lye  still,  thou  little  Musgrave, 

And  huggell  me  from  the  cold ; 

'Tis  nothing  but  a  shephard's  boy 

A  driving  his  sheep  to  the  fold. 


NOTES.  339 

17.  'Is  not  thy  hawke  upon  a  perch, 

Thy  steed  eats  oats  and  hay, 
And  thou,  a  fair  lady  in  thine  armes, 
And  wouldst  thou  bee  away  ? ' 

1 8.  With  that  my  lord  Barnard  came  to  the  dore, 

And  lit  a  stone  upon  ; 
He  plucked  out  three  silver  keys 
And  he  opend  the  dores  each  one. 

19.  '  Arise,  arise,  thou  Little  Musgrave, 

And  put  thy  clothes  on  ; 
It  shall  nere  be  said  in  my  country 
I  have  killed  a  naked  man. 

20.  '  I  have  two  swords  in  one  scabberd, 

Full  deere  they  cost  my  purse ; 
And  thou  shalt  have  the  best  of  them, 
And  I  will  have  the  worse.' 

21.  The  first  stroke  that  Little  Musgrave  stroke, 

He  hurt  Lord  Barnard  sore  ; 
The  next  stroke  that  Lord  Barnard  stroke, 
Little  Musgrave  nere  struck  more. 

22.  With  that  bespake  this  faire  lady, 

In  bed  whereas  she  lay  ; 

'  Although  thou'rt  dead,  thou  Little  Musgrave, 
Yet  I  for  thee  will  pray. 

23.  '  And  wish  well  to  thy  soule  will  I, 

So  long  as  I  have  life  ; 
So  will  I  not  for  thee,  Barnard, 
Although  I  am  thy  wedded  wife.' 

24.  Then  he's  taen  out  a  sharp  dagger, 

It  was  both  keen  and  smart, 
And  he  has  wounded  that  gay  ladye 
A  deep  wound  to  the  heart. 

25.  '  Woe  worth  you,  woe  worth,  my  merry  men  all, 

You  were  nere  born  for  my  good ; 
Why  did  you  not  offer  to  stay  my  hand, 
When  you  see  me  wax  so  wood  ? 

26.  '  For  I  have  slaine  the  bravest  sir  knight 

That  ever  rode  on  steed  ; 
So  have  I  done  the  fairest  lady 
That  ever  wore  woman's  weede. 


340  NOTES. 

27.    '  A  grave,  a  grave,'  Lord  Barnard  cryd, 

'  To  put  these  lovers  in  ; 
But  lay  my  lady  on  the  upper  hand, 
For  she  came  of  the  better  kin.' 


GLASGEKION. 

Glasgerion  was  a  king's  owne  sonne, 

And  a  harper  lie  was  good  ; 
He  harped  in  the  king's  chamber, 

Where  cuppe  and  candle  stoode, 
And  soe  did  hee  in  the  queen's  chamber, 

Till  ladies  waxed  wood 

And  then  bespake  the  king's  daughter, 
And  these  words  thus  sayd  shee  .  .  . 


3.  Saide, '  Strike  on,  strike  on,  Glasgerrion, 

Of  thy  striking  do  not  blinne  ; 
There's  never  a  stroke  comes  over  thine  harpe 
But  it  glads  my  hart  within.' 

4.  '  Faire  might  you  fall,  lady  ! '  quoth  he  ; 

'  Who  taught  you  now  to  speake  ? 
I  have  loved  you,  lady,  seven  yeere ; 
My  hart  I  durst  neere  breake.' 

5.  '  But  come  to  my  bovver,  my  Glasgerryon, 

When  all  men  are  att  rest ; 
As  I  am  a  ladie  true  of  my  promise, 
Thou  shalt  be  a  welcome  guest.' 

6.  But  hom  then  came  Glasgerryon, 

A  glad  man,  Lord,  was  hee  ; 
'  And  come  thou  hither,  Jacke,  my  boy, 
Come  hither  unto  mee. 

7.  '  For  the  king's  daughter  of  Normandye, 

Her  love  is  granted  mee, 
And  beffore  the  cocke  have  crowen, 
Att  her  chamber  must  I  bee.' 


NOTES.  341 


8.  '  But  come  you  hither,  master,'  quoth  hee, 

1  Lay  your  head  downe  on  this  stone  ; 
For  I  will  waken  you,  master  deere, 
Afore  it  be  time  to  gone.' 

9.  But  upp  then  rose  that  lither  ladd, 

And  did  on  hose  and  shoone  ; 
A  coller  he  cast  upon  his  necke, 
Hee  seemed  a  gentleman. 

10.  And  when  he  came  to  that  ladie's  chamber, 

He  thrild  upon  a  pinn  ; 
The  lady  was  true  of  her  promise, 
Rose  up  and  lett  him  in. 

11.  He  did  not  kisse  that  lady  gay 

When  he  came  nor  when  he  youd  ; 
And  sore  mistrusted  that  lady  gay 
He  was  of  some  churles  blood. 

12.  But  home  then  came  that  lither  ladd, 

And  did  of  his  hose  and  shoone, 
And  cast  that  coller  from  about  his  necke  ; 

He  was  but  a  churles  sonne  : 
'  Awaken,'  quoth  hee, '  my  master  deere, 

I  hold  it  time  to  be  gone. 

13.  '  For  I  have  sadled  your  horsse,  master, 

Well  bridled  I  have  your  steed  ; 

Have  not  I  served  a  good  breakfast, 

When  time  comes  I  have  need.' 

14.  But  up  then  rose  good  Glasgerryon, 

And  did  on  both  hose  and  shoone, 
And  cast  a  coller  about  his  necke  ; 
He  was  a  kinges  sonne. 

15.  And  when  he  came  to  that  ladie's  chamber, 

He  thrild  upon  a  pinn  ; 
The  Lady  was  more  then  true  of  promise, 
Rose  up  and  let  him  in. 

16.  Sales, '  Whether  have  you  left  with  me 

Your  braclett  or  your  glove  ? 

Or  are  you  returned  backe  againe 

To  know  more  of  my  love  ? ' 


342  NOTES. 

17.  Glasgerryon  swore  a  full  great  othe 

By  oake  and  ashe  and  thorne  : 

'  Lady,  I  was  never  in  your  chamber 

Sith  the  time  that  I  was  borne.' 

18.  '  O  then  it  was  your  little  foot-page 

Falsly  hath  beguiled  me  ; ' 
And  then  shee  pulld  forth  a  little  pen-kniffe 

That  hanged  by  her  knee, 
Says, '  There  shall  never  noe  churles  blood 

Spring  within  my  body.' 

19.  But  home  then  went  Glasgerryon, 

A  woe  man,  good  [Lord]  was  hee ; 
Sayes, '  Come  hither,  thou  Jacke,  my  boy, 
Come  thou  hither  to  me. 

20.  '  Ffor  if  I  had  killed  a  man  to-night, 

Jacke,  I  wold  tell  it  thee ; 
But  if  I  have  not  killed  a  man  to-night, 
Jacke,  thou  hast  killed  three  ! ' 

21.  And  he  puld  out  his  bright  browne  sword, 

And  dryed  it  on  his  sleeve, 
And  he  smote  off  that  lither  ladd's  head, 
And  asked  noe  man  noe  leave. 

22.  He  sett  the  sword's  poynt  till  his  brest, 

The  pumill  till  a  stone  ; 
Thorrow  that  falseness  of  that  lither  ladd 
These  three  lives  werne  all  gone. 


EDWARD. 

See  Herder's  praise  of  this  ballad,  Works,  XXV,  19.  —  Printed  in 
the  Reliques,  and  communicated  to  Percy  by  Sir  David  Dalrymple. 
4  7.     In  Motherwell's  version,  '  Son  Davie '  says  : 

'  I'll  set  my  foot  in  a  bottomless  ship 
And  ye'll  never  see  mair  o  me.' 

Flosi  in  the  Nidlssaga  (c.  160)  thus  takes  a  bad  boat  for  his  last 
voyage,  saying  that  he  is  old  and  '  fey.' 


NOTES.  343 


THE   TWA   SISTERS. 

This  remarkable  ballad  exists  in  many  versions,  and  in  that 
melancholy  proof  of  popularity,  burlesque.  The  reader  is  referred 
to  Professor  Child's  exhaustive  account,  Ballads,  I,  118  ff.  —  We 
print  B,  omitting  5.  The  refrain  made  popular  by  Scott's  version,  — 
'Binnorie,  O  Binnorie,' — occurs  in  I,  K,  M. 

6l.     A  regrettable  confusion  of  ocean  and  mill-stream  ;  see  IS  2. 

25  ff.     In  A  the  '  violl,'  made  of  the  breast-bone,  plays  of  itself : 

Then  bespake  the  treble  string, 

'  O  yonder  is  my  father  the  king.' 

Then  bespake  the  second  string, 

'  O  yonder  sits  my  mother  the  queen.' 

And  then  bespake  the  strings  all  three, 

'  O  yonder  is  my  sister  that  drowned  me.' 


THE   TWA    BROTHERS. 

Printed  in  Sharpe's  Ballad  Book,  and  Child,  II,  435  ff.,  A.  Pro- 
fessor Child  prints  seven  other  versions,  one  American. 

2  3-4.  Motherwell  insists  that  this  must  be  accidental,  or  the 
ballad  is  spoiled  ;  but  Professor  Child  points  out  that  'the  generosity 
of  the  dying  man  is  plainly  greater  if  his  brother  has  killed  him  in 
an  outburst  of  passion.' 

10  3.     Kirk-land,  evidently  for  the  kirk-yard  of  5  and  6. 


BEWICK   AND    GRAHAME. 

From  a  printed  copy ;  see  Child,  VII,  144  ff.  The  ballad,  as 
Scott  pointed  out,  'is  remarkable  as  containing  probably  the  very 
latest  allusion  to  the  institution  of  brotherhood  in  arms.' — The 
tragic  motive  of  a  struggle  between  two  duties,  with  decision  fatal 
in  either  case,  is  used  here  with  admirable  if  homely  power.  Hamlet, 
Ritdiger  in  the  Nibelungen,  Rodrigue  in  the  Cid,  and  all  the  rest, 
are  presented,  of  course,  with  far  more  art,  but  not  with  more  fidelity 


344  NOTES. 

to  nature.  There  are  some  weak  verses,  due  to  broadside  influence  ; 
but  delicate  touches  (as  stanza  16)  are  not  wanting. 

1  3.  Scott  notes  that  this  'custom  of  going  armed  to  festive 
meetings '  often  made  serious  trouble. 

5  2.     bully,  in  the  other  versions  billy,  =  comrade,  brother  in  arms. 

8  2.     See  48  2. 

19.  By  the  old  blood-brotherhood,  and  later  forms  of  it,  it  was 
disgraceful  for  one  of  the  pair  to  survive  the  other. 

43.  This  is  the  awkward  stroke  by  which  Robin  Hood  killed 
Guy  of  Gisborne,  stanza  40. 


THE    CRUEL    BROTHER. 

This  is  one  of  the  ballads  recited  by  Mrs.  Brown  of  Falkland. 
She  was  born  in  1747,  and  learned  her  ballads  before  she  was  twelve 
years  old.  See  Child,  I,  142  ff.,  II,  455,  note,  who  also  quotes  Prior 
in  regard  to  the  great  importance  '  in  ballad  times '  of  asking  a 
brother's  assent  to  his  sister's  marriage.  As  printed  here,  the  ballad 
is  made  up  of  A  and  B  (Child,  p.  145  f.)  as  follows:  A  =  i,  9,  10, 
n,  12,  13,  14,  15,  16,  19,  20,  21,  22,  23,  24,  25;  B  =  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7, 
8,  17,  18. 

I.  For  ball-playing,  see  Introduction,  p.  Ixxxi. 

II.  See   Suckling,  Ballad  upon  a    Wedding,  of   the   bride  and 
groom : 

Till  every  woman  wish'd  her  place, 
And  every  man  wish'd  his. 

19.     For  the  testament,  cf.  Edward,  p.  170. 


BABYLON,    OR   THE    BONNIE   BANKS   O'   FORDIE. 

Printed  in  Motherwell's  Minstrelsy  ;   Child,  I,  170  ff. 

1  4.     Fordie  is  a  stream  '  about  six  miles  to  the  east  of  Dunkeld ' 
in  Scotland. 

2  1.     This  peculiar  form  of  trespass  invariably  summons  the  out- 
law, enchanted  person,  or  whatever  power  of  the  place.     See  Tarn 
Lin,  4. 

172.     ome  =  byme. 

18  2.     t-wyned '  —  twinned  =  parted,  divided. 


NOTES.  345 


CHILD   MAURICE. 

H.-F.,  Percy  Folio,  II,  500  ff.;  Child,  IV,  263  ff.  A  popular 
Scottish  version  is  Gill  Morice ;  see  Gray's  letter,  above,  p.  309. 

Upon  this  vivid  and  admirable  ballad  Home  founded  his  tragedy 
of  Douglas.  —  For  the  Silver  Wood,  see  Jellon  Grame,  i ;  Child, 
IV,  303. 

1  3.     that  is  superfluous. 

2.     In  the  MS.  this  is  preceded  by  a  defective  stanza: 

.  .  .  And  he  tooke  his  silver  combe  in  his  hand, 
To  kembe  his  yellow  lockes. 

4-5.  The  sense  is  that  the  page  must  greet  the  lady  as  many  times 
as  there  are  knots  in  nets  for  the  hair,  or  merchant-men  faring  to 
London,  or  thoughts  of  the  heart,  or  schoolmasters  in  all  the  school- 
houses  ;  in  short : 

'  Griiss  mir  mein  Liebchen  zehntausend  mal ! ' 

4  3.     Sometimes  '  lovely  London.'     So  '  fair  Edinburgh  '  in  Arm- 
strong, and  '  merry  Lincoln  '  in  Sir  Hugh. 
6-7.     He  sends  her  tokens  of  his  identity. 
7  4.     Let  (infinitive)  =  desist. 
20  1.     him  :   dative  of  subject  with  verbs  of  motion. 

25  1.     As  in  Gesf,  305  1,  and  often  in  the  ballads,  swords  are  both 
'brown'    and    'bright,'    and  the  former  adjective  probably  means 
'  burnished,'   or   '  glistening.'      Cf.  brun  and    briinecg  (Beowulf,  vv. 
2574,  1546)  used  in  A.-S.  of  the  sword,  and  evidently  in  the  sense  of 
'  bright,'  not  '  dark '  or  '  brown,'  as  Grein  defined  the  words.     If  the 
adjective  has  such  venerable  traditions,  however,  one  is  half  inclined 
to  follow  it  further  back  to  those  bronze  swords,  found  so  plentifully 
in  Denmark,  and  elsewhere  in  reasonable  abundance,  and  exquisite 
enough  in  their  workmanship  to  have  come  from  the  hand  of  Weland 
himself. 

26  l.     hee  =  John  Steward. 

30-31.  See  (above,  p.  339)  conclusion  of  Little  Musgrave  and 
Lady  Barnard. 


346  NOTES. 


THE    WIFE   OF   USHER'S    WELL. 

This  ballad,  which  introduces  a  small  group  dealing  with  the 
supernatural,  was  printed  by  Scott  in  the  Minstrelsy ;  Child,  III, 
238  f.  —  Allingham  patches  with  two  stanzas,  inserted  after  11,  from 
a  version  of  The  Clerk's  Twa  Sons  o1  Owsenford  (printed  by  Child 
as  B,  with  The  Wife  of  Usher's  Well),  and  actually  adds  another 
stanza  (of  his  own  ?)  '  to  complete  the  sense.'  See  The  Ballad 
Book,  pp.  32  ff.,  375.  But  we  are  more  than  content  with  the  noble 
simplicity  of  A;  and  Allingham,  gaining  little  or  nothing  by  his 
borrowing,  has  lost  pitiably  by  his  inventing.  A  touch  in  version  B 
is  that  the  mother  wraps  her  sons  in  the  mantle ;  in  A  she  wraps 
herself  in  it.  Allingham  thus  '  completes  the  sense '  by  making  the 
brother  remark : 

Our  mother  has  nae  mair  but  us; 

See  where  she  leans  asleep ; 
The  mantle  that  was  on  herself, 

She  has  happ'd  it  round  our  feet. 

It  is  not  said  in  our  ballad  that  the  sons  have  come  back  to  protest 
against  their  mother's  excessive  grief  (see  Child,  III,  238);  but  this 
motive  is  so  common  in  folk-lore  that  we  add  for  comparison  a 
ballad  called  The  Unquiet  Grave,  printed  by  Child,  III,  236: 

1.  '  The  wind  doth  blow  to-day,  my  love, 

And  a  few  small  drops  of  rain ; 
I  never  had  but  one  true-love, 
In  cold  grave  she  was  lain. 

2.  '  I'll  do  as  much  for  my  true-love 

As  any  young  man  may ; 
I'll  sit  and  mourn  all  at  her  grave 
For  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day.' 

3.  The  twelvemonth  and  a  day  being  up, 

The  dead  began  to  speak : 
'  O  who  sits  weeping  on  my  grave, 
And  will  not  let  me  sleep  ? ' 

4.  '  'Tis  I,  my  love,  sits  on  your  grave, 

And  will  not  let  you  sleep ; 
For  I  crave  one  kiss  of  your  clay-cold  lips, 
And  that  is  all  I  seek.' 


NOTES.  347 

5.  '  You  crave  one  kiss  of  my  clay-cold  lips; 

But  my  breath  smells  earthy  strong ; 
If  you  have  one  kiss  of  my  clay-cold  lips, 
Your  time  will  not  be  long. 

6.  '  'Tis  down  in  yonder  garden  green, 

Love,  where  we  used  to  walk, 
The  finest  flower  that  ere  was  seen 
Is  withered  to  a  stalk. 

7.  '  The  stalk  is  withered  dry,  my  love, 

So  will  our  hearts  decay ; 
So  make  yourself  content,  my  love, 
Till  God  calls  you  away.' 

See  Sweet  William's  Gkost  for  st.  5  of  the  above. 

4  2.    fashes.     MS.  fishes.     Lockhart  suggested  the  reading  fashes 
—  troubles,  disturbance,  storms. 

5  1.     B  puts  the  time  as  'the  hallow  days  of  Yule.'  —  Martinmas 
=  11  November. 

S  4.  '  The  notion  that  the  souls  of  the  blessed  wear  garlands, 
seems  to  be  of  Jewish  origin.'  —  Scott. 

9  ],  2.  Cf.  Child,  Ballads,  III,  229,  st.  14.  —  Extravagant  and 
erring  spirits  are  usually  supposed  to  be  warned  by  any  cockcrow 
which  they  may  hear;  but  R.  Kbhler,  Germania,  XI,  85  ff.,  shows 
more  elaborate  distinctions  in  folk-lore.  Three,  sometimes  (as  in 
this  ballad)  two  cocks,  distinguished  by  color,  —  white,  red  and 
black,  —  announce  to  ghosts  and  demons  the  approach  of  day ;  and 
it  is  when  the  third  (or  second :  in  each  case,  the  last)  cock  crows 
that  the  spirits  vanish.  Kohler  notes  that  in  our  ballad  the  gray 
cock  takes  the  place  of  the  black.  In  Scandinavian  myth,  the  dark- 
red  cock  crows  in  the  under-world  ;  but  every  one  knows  how  devil 
and  demons  have  been  substituted  for  perfectly  harmless  spirits. 
Here,  at  any  rate,  no  evil  is  at  work  ;  the  sons  simply  obey  the 
ghostly  signal  of  recall. 

12  3,  4.  The  beauty  of  reticence  in  this  last  farewell  is  as  delicate 
as  anything  in  literature. 


CLERK   COLVEN. 

Child,  II,  371  ff.  —  See  his  full  account  of  similar  European 
ballads. 

'  Clerk '  is  what  Allingham  calls  '  a  learned  young  knight ' ;  see 
Clerk  Sounders,  10  4,  Child,  III,  159. 


348  NOTES. 

1  1.  This  'gay  ladie  '  is  his  newly  married  wife  ;  hence  the  ven- 
geance of  the  forsaken  mermaid,  —  not  forsaken,  however,  as  the 
sequel  shows,  but  sufficiently  slighted. 

1  u.     '  About  her  slender  waist.' 

3  2.     'Be  not  so  anxious  abouc  me.' 

5  2.     And  ay's  ye  wash  —  '  And  it  is  ever  that  you  wash,'  '  You  are 
always  washing  your  sark  o'  silk.' 

6  2.     See   Tarn  Lin,  7.      Scott  remarks,  in  a  note  to  the  latter 
ballad,  that  '  the  ladies  are  always  represented,  in  Dunbar's  Poems, 
with  green  mantles  and  yellow  hair.' 


FAIR   MARGARET   AND    SWEET    WILLIAM. 

Printed  in  the  Reliques,  and  an  early  favorite  with  the  stalls  ; 
Child,  III,  199  ff.;  and  quoted,  from  whatever  source,  in  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher's  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,  ii,  8,  and  iii,  5.  The 
final  stanza  is  here  omitted,  —  a  mere  tag.  For  the  tune,  see 
Chappell,  I,  182  f. 

1.     See  Lord  Thomas  and  Fair  Annet. 

17-19.     See  note  to  29,  30,  of  same  ballad. 


SWEET    WILLIAM'S    GHOST. 

In  Herd's  MSS.  this  ballad  is  the  continuation  of  Clerk  Saunders, 
and  is  so  treated  by  Scott  in  the  Minstrelsy  ;  see  Child,  III,  226  ff.  — 
It  would  be  too  large  a  task  to  point  out  nearer  or  remote  parallels 
in  literature ;  but  a  good  measure  of  difference  between  poetry  of 
the  schools  and  poetry  of  the  people  may  be  gained  by  comparing 
this  ballad  with  either  Wordsworth's  Laodamia  or  Goethe's  Brant 
von  Corinth. 

1  1.     A  wat  =  '\  wot,'  like  'in  sooth.' 

2.  '  Are  ye  at  present  sleeping  or  waking  ? ' 

3.  She  does  not  yet  know  that  he  is  dead. 

4.  See  The  Unquiet  Grave,  5,  above,  p.  347. 

5  1.  Professor  Kittredge  very  plausibly  suggests  that  this  unintel- 
ligible mid-larf  is  really  the  corrupted  name  of  some  town.  Thus 
Usher's  Well,  B,  4  (Child,  III,  239),  says  of  a  similar  situation  : 


NOTES.  349 

O  the  young  cock  crew  i  the  merry  Linkem, 
An  the  wild  fowl  chirp'd  for  day. 

So  here  (a  =  'in  ');    '  the  cocks  are  crowing  in  merry .' 

6  4.     That  die  in  childbirth. 

9  2.  In  other  cases  —  see  the  passage  quoted  by  Professor  Child, 
III,  227,  from  Scott's  Advertisement  to  The  Pirate  —  it  is  the 
surviving  lover  who  desires  to  take  back  the  troth-plight  bestowed 
upon  the  dead.  —  As  for  the  wand  upon  which  Margaret  '  strokes ' 
her  troth,  it  seems  not  unlikely  that  we  are  dealing  with  a  confused 
survival  of  the  common  method  by  which  savages  and  even  European 
peasants  get  rid  of  a  disease  by  rubbing  the  affected  part  upon  a 
stick,  a  tree,  or  what  not.  See  Tylor,  Primitive  Cttlture  (1873),  H> 
146,  148  f. 

11  I.     With  no  dress  save  hose,  shoes  and  gown. 

13  3,  4.     In  some  versions  she  is  told  that  there  is  no  room. 

14  1.     Meal  —  mould,  earth. 


EARL   BRAND. 

This  is  the  older  and  fuller  version,  printed  by  Bell  in  his  Ancient 
Poems,  of  a  ballad  known  best  in  the  form  to  which  Scott  gave  the 
name  of  The  Douglas  Tragedy.  See  Child,  I,  88  ff.  See  also  the 
fragment  in  the  Percy  Folio,  ed.  H.-F.,  I,  132  ff.,  out  of  which  Percy 
made  his  Child  of  Elle.  —  The  related  ballads  of  Europe  are  very 
interesting  :  see  Child,  as  above,  and  compare  the  ballad  which 
follows  in  his  collection,  —  Erlinton.  In  these  two  ballads  there  are 
distinct  traces  of  the  Germanic  Hilde  legends.  The  elopement  and 
the  fight  with  pursuers  recall  the  story  of  Walter  and  Hildegund,  as 
told  in  the  A.-S.  fragment  Waldere,  in  the  Waltharius  of  the  German 
Ekkehard,  and  elsewhere.  —  This  version  of  Earl  Brand  (see  Child, 
p.  92  f.)  has  many  points  of  contact  with  Scandinavian  ballads  on 
the  same  subject. 

7  l.  Carl  Hood,  as  Scandinavian  sagas  give  us  plainly  to  under- 
stand, is  here  Odin  himself,  who,  '  though  not  a  thoroughly  malig- 
nant divinity,  had  his  dark  side.'  .  .  .  (Child). 

111.  lee-lang  =  lief  -long,  corrupted  into  livelong  (defined  by 
some  dictionaries  =  ' long  as  life'!);  'this  dear  long  day.'  Cf. 
German  '  den  lieben  langen  tag.' 

13.  'Almost  literally'  the  same  in  certain  Danish  ballads. — 
Child. 


350  NOTES. 

14  l.     dead=  death. 

24.  This  is  the  last  member  of  the  attacking  party,  and,  like  the 
slayer  of  Johnie  Armstrong  (15  3),  he  comes  behind  Earl  Brand's 
back  to  give  the  mortal  wound.  But  the  oldest  form  of  the  ballad 
doubtless  retained  a  feature  found  in  most  of  the  Scandinavian 
versions :  all  will  go  well  if  the  maid  remember  the  knight's  com- 
mand that  she  shall  not  name  his  name.  It  is  when  she  sees  her 
youngest  brother  come  to  his  fate  that  she  calls  upon  her  lover  by 
name,  and  asks  him  to  have  mercy  ;  thus  she  brings  about  the 
tragedy.  There  is  a  touch  of  this  in  Scott's  version,  though  father 
takes  the  place  of  youngest  brother  : 

She  held  his  steed  in  her  milk-white  hand, 

And  never  shed  one  tear, 
Until  that  she  saw  her  seven  brethren  fa', 

And  her  father  hard  fighting,  who  lov'd  her  so  dear. 

'  O  hold  your  hand,  Lord  William  ! '  she  said, 
'  For  your  strokes  they  are  wondrous  sair ; 
True  lovers  I  can  get  many  a  ane 
But  a  father  I  can  never  get  mair.' 


YOUNG    HUNTING. 

See  Child,  III,  142  ff.,  printed  from  Herd's  MSS.,  with  the  aid  of 
which  Scott  made  up  his  version,  Earl  Richard.  He  added,  for 
example,  st.  28  : 

The  maiden  touched  the  clay-cauld  corpse, 

A  drap  it  never  bled ; 
The  ladye  laid  her  hand  on  him, 

And  soon  the  ground  was  red, 

which  is  the  well-known  test  of  a  murderer's  presence,  most  familiar 
to  us  in  Shakspere's  Richard  III,  i,  2.  In  our  ballad  the  only  test 
is  the  triai  by  fire. 

3  1.  Has  plied  him  with  ale  and  beer  ;  literally,  'has  poured  in 
(i.e.  into  the  cup)  for  him,'  him  being  the  dative  case. 

5  1.     A  commonplace  of  the  ballads. 

8  3,  4.  From  G  (Child,  p.  151).  'You  shall  have  a  cage  of  gold 
instead  of  a  cage  of  wood.' 

12  1.  'The  deep  holes,  scooped  in  the  rock  by  the  eddies  of  a 
river,  are  called  pots  ;  the  motion  of  the  water  having  there  some 
resemblance  to  a  boiling  caldron.'  —  Scott. 


NOTES.  351 

14  2,  15  2.  She  swears  by  corn  and  by  moon  ;  in  another  version 
by  'grass  sae  greene  and  by  the  corn  '  ;  again  (K,  26)  by  the  thorn. 
Glasgerion's  oath  (see  above,  p.  342)  was  '  by  oak  and  ash  and  thorn,' 
—  a  '  full-great '  oath,  with  distinctly  heathen  elements. 

16  3.     duckers  =  divers. 

17  l.     the  to?  =  the  one. 

18  3,  4.     From  K.  —  For  a  bird  revealing  secrets,  cf.  the  parrot  in 
Lady  Isabel  and  the  Elf  Knight  (Child,  I,  22  ff.),  C,  13  ff.  (p.  57); 
D,    22  ;    E,    14  ff.,  where  a  cage  is  promised  ;  arid  especially  The 
Bonnie  Birdy  (Child,  III,  260  f.),  a  Scottish  pendant  to  the  English 
Little  Musgrave.     Here  the  bird  tells  the  knight  of  his  wife's  sin 
because  the  latter  has  treated  the  bird  ill.     Birds  carry  messages ; 
cf.  Johnie  Cock,  20,  and   Gay  Goshawk,  with  Professor  Child's  note, 
IV,  356  f. 

20  3,  4.  Scott  thinks  these  are  '  unquestionably '  the  corpse-lights 
'  which  are  sometimes  seen  to  illuminate  the  spot  where  a  dead  body 
is  concealed ';  but  Professor  Child  urges  that  the  meaning  'is  as 
likely  to  be  that  a  candle,  floated  on  the  water,  would  burn  brighter 
when  it  came  to  the  spot  where  the  body  lay.' 

23  6.     Note  the  dative  with  substantive  force. 

25  6.     hokey-gren.     In  Scott's  version,  hollin  green  —  green  holly. 


FAIR   JANET. 

Printed  in  Sharpe's  Ballad  Book  ;  Child,  Ballads,  III,  100  ff. 

44.     He"s=  he  shall. 

5  4.    jo  =  sweetheart. 

18  4.     the  morn  =  the  morrow. 

19.     Cf.  Mary  Hamilton,  6. 

20  3.  White  steeds  have  sacred  associations  (Tacitus,  Germania, 
c.  10),  are  reserved  for  royalty,  and  are  the  best  of  three  colors  in 
times  of  need:  see  Lady  Maisry,  B  (Child,  III,  116),  and  Fair 
Mary  of  Livingston,  20-22.  Tarn  Lin,  too,  rides  not  the  black,  nor 
the  brown,  but  —  he  is  a  favorite  of  the  queen  —  a  milk-white  steed  : 
27,  28.  '  Saddle  -white  Surrey  for  the  field  to-morrow,'  commands 
the  king,  Richard  III,  v,  3.  '  Dem  Pabst  ist  gesetzt,'  ran  an  old 
regulation,  '  dass  er  reyte  auf  einem  blancken  Pferde.''  For  a  deeper 
glimpse,  see  Hehn.  Kulturpflanzen  u.  Haustiere,  pp.  44  f.,  478. 

24.     In  came,  etc. 


352  NOTES. 

24  4.  downa  =  am  not  able  ;  '  occasionally  denoting  want  of 
inclination,  even  reluctance  or  disgust.'  Jamieson.  — '  I  cannot  bear 
to  look  upon  your  face.' 

26  2.     Many  mae  •=• '  many  more,'  — '  many  others.' 

29  3,  4.     Cf.  Twa  Brothers,  7  ff. 

30.     See  note  to  Fair  Margaret  and  Sweet  William,  17  ff. 


LADY  MAISRY. 

Printed  by  Jamieson,  Popular  Ballads:  see  Child,  III,  iiaff. 

1  3.     Maisry  is  for  Margery,  Marjory. 

2  2.     a1  kin  h'nd=all  kinds  of. 
6  I.     '  Kitchen-boy.' 

11  1.  Who  is  it  that  owns  (aught);  to  whom  belongs? 

20  4.  sat  =  salt. 

22  2.  He  waited  not  to  knock  or  call. 

23  3.  lighter  =  delivered. 


THE   LASS   OF   ROCH    ROYAL. 

This  is  the  version  E  of  Child,  Ballads,  III,  221  f.,  from  Mrs. 
Brown's  recitation  (1800),  and  in  good  part  (see  Child,  p.  226,  for 
changes)  that  printed  by  Scott  in  his  Minstrelsy  as  The  Lass  of 
Lochroyan.  Lochryan  '  lies  in  Galloway,'  says  Scott ;  and  he  notes 
that  Burns  has  '  celebrated '  the  same  story.  See  Works  of  Burns, 
Globe  Edition,  p.  181,  Love  Gregory,  a  slight  and  not  very  impressive 
song. 

10.  Said  by  the  'fause  mother'  who  personates  Love  Gregor 
while  he  sleeps. 

17  3.     him  :  substantive  dative,  and  not  reflexive;  cf.  raise  in  24  4. 

18  2.    gars  me  greet  =  makes  me  weep. 


WILLIE   AND   LADY    MAISRY. 

Printed  by  Motherwell  in  his  Minstrelsy ;  Child,  III,  167  ff. — 
Compare  Clerk  Scmnders,  the  ballad  which  precedes  it  in  Professor 
Child's  CQllectiQn,  =  Maisry  i§  here  substituted  for  Margery. 


NOTES.  353 

5  12.     A  '  whang '  is  a  thong  ;  he  has  thus  a  full  '  sheaf.' 

10  11,  12.     Note  the  '  run-on '  verse,  a  rare  occurrence  in  ballad 
metre. 

11  2.    gare  often  =  a  strip  of  cloth,  a  part  of  the  dress  :    '  used 
vaguely  in  romances,'  says  Professor  Child  (Ballads,  first  collection, 
II,  397),   'for  clothing.'     Jamieson  :  'A   triangular   piece   of   cloth 
inserted  at  the  bottom  of  a  shift  or  robe.'     Cf.  gore. 


LORD   THOMAS   AND   FAIR   ANNET. 

Printed  in  the  Reliques  'from  a  MS.  copy  transmitted  from 
Scotland '  ;  an  English  version  was  printed  as  broadside  in  the  reign 
of  Charles  II.  '  One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  our  ballads,  and 
indeed  of  all  ballads,'  says  Professor  Child,  Ballads,  III,  180. 

4  3.  nut-browne  is  here  the  opposite  of  fair  or  beautiful,  though  we 
can  hardly  assume  the  same  insinuation  for  that  type  of  constancy 
and  amiability,  the  Nut-brown  Maid.  In  C  (Child,  p.  186)  the  fair 
one  grows  scurrilous,  addressing  Lord  Thomas : 

'  Brown,  brown  is  your  steed,'  she  says, 

'  But  browner  is  your  bride ; 
But  gallant  is  that  handkerchy, 

That  hideth  her  din  hide.' 

The  brunette  was  certainly  undesired  in  Germanic  Europe  :  see  Twa 
Sisters,  14,  with  the  line  of  another  version :  '  ye  was  fair  and  I 
was  din  [=dun]';  and  an  army  of  similar  expressions  could  be 
marshalled,  including  Shakspere's  famous  apologies  for  his  '  dark 
lady.' 

8  2.     'And  her  cattle  in  the  stable.' 

11  2.     owt  o  hand=  immediately. 

15  3.     The  finest  linen  was  made  in  Holland,  and  so  named. 

16  4.     See  note  to  Young  Waters,  3  3. 

29-30.  This  well-known  substitute  in  tragic  ballads  for  the  '  lived 
happily  ever  after '  of  ordinary  tales  is  fully  treated  by  Professor 
Child,  Ballads,  I,  96-99.  See  also  Talvj,  Charakteristik,  \y)i. 
The  former  notes  that  in  English  ballads  the  plants,  separated  at 
the  roots,  but  twining  their  branches  lovingly  together,  are  '  either 
a  brier  and  a  rose,  or  a  brier  and  a  birk.'  —  See  Fair  Margaret  and 
Sweet  William,  Fair  Janet,  and  the  familiar  ballad  of  Lord  Lwel, 


354  NOTES. 


FAIR   MARY    OF    LIVINGSTON. 

The  story  is  told  better  in  Fair  Mary  of  Wallington  (Child,  IV, 
309  ff.,  version  A),  but  the  present  version  —  to  be  consistent,  the 
title  should  be  Fair  Maisry  —  from  Herd,  and  printed  by  Professor 
Child  as  B,  is  better  suited  to  the  purposes  of  our  collection.  The 
editor  has  ventured  to  change  the  order  of  stanzas  as  follows: 
B,  5,  6  have  been  placed  after  26,  and  7,  27  have  been  omitted 
altogether,  so  that  B,  5,  6  =  24,  25  of  our  copy,  with  distinct  gain 
in  clearness,  and  no  loss  by  the  trifling  omissions.  If  stanza  7  (B) 
is  retained  (see  Professor  Child's  note,  p.  316),  restoration  of  the 
right  order  is  '  impracticable.' 

2  2.     An  lords  ?  (Child). 

5  2.     shoon  may  well  be  sheen  as  elsewhere,  making  a  good  rime. 

9  4.  Bird  her  lane  = '  a  lonely  maid,'  or  possibly  nothing  more 
than  '  utterly  alone.'  Still,  whatever  the  etymology  of  bird,  burd 
(see  Murray's  Dictionary,  s.  v.  burd),  the  ballads  understand  by 
burd  a  maiden,  a  young  lady.  Cf.  Fair  Annie,  1  2. 

17.  This  is  the  proper  ballad  behavior  for  any  one  surprised  by  a 
great  piece  of  news. 

20-22.  See  note  to  Fair  Janet,  20  3.  —  For  this  passage,  see  Lady 
Maisry,  B,  14-16  (Child,  III,  117)  : 

Fair  fall  the  mare  that  foaled  the  foal 
Took  him  to  Janet's  lyke. 

The  rime  —  or  assonance  —  requires  lyke  instead  of  lear,  which 
=  lair,  resting-place,  bed  or  tomb. 

26.     Spoken  by  the  mother. 

28  4.  rathes.  '  Raith,  reath.  The  fourth  part  of  a  year.'  Jamie- 
son,  Dictionary. 


CHILD   WATERS. 

Percy  Folio,  ed.  H.-F.,  II,  269 ff.  'It  was  not  necessary,'  noted 
Percy,  '  to  correct  this  much  for  the  press.'  For  other  versions  like 
Burd  Ellen,  see  Child,  III,  83  ff.  —  The  great  praise  awarded  to 
this  ballad  by  Child  and  Grundtvig  must  not  be  thwarted  in  the 
mind  of  readers  by  the  impression  of  irritating  cruelty  in  the  hero 
and  irritating  patience  in  the  heroine.  We  must  take  the  only  point 
of  view  recognized  in  ballad  times ;  this  done,  and  allowances  made 


NOTES.  355 

for  the  roughness  —  not  coarseness  —  of  the  details,  we  shall  be 
ready  to  concede  that  no  better  ballad  can  be  found  in  any  tongue. 
An  obvious  comparison  brings  us  to  the  same  obstacles  and  the 
same  triumph  in  judging  Chaucer's  Clerke's  Tale,  as  well  as  to  that 
admirable  '  dramatic  lyric,'  The  Niit-brown  Maid.  The  editor  has 
taken  a  surely  pardonable  liberty  in  omitting  the  one  passage  which 
jars  hopelessly  with  our  modern  sentiment, — stanzas  27,  28,  29  as 
printed  by  Professor  Child.  Hence  A,  30  is  27  of  this  copy. 

3  3.     strayght  =  narrow. 

28  1.  MS.  '  This,  and  itt  drove  now  afterward.'  Professor 
Child  inserts  'night,'  but  says  it  is  'an  emendation  'made  without 
confidence,'  and  assuming  and  to  be  superfluous,  as  in  Sir  Cawline : 
see  notes,  Ballads,  III,  99,  57  (on  and). 

334.     nionand^  moaning. 

34  3,  4.  To  wish  one's  child  born  and  one's  self  in  the  grave  is 
common  with  forsaken  sweethearts  in  popular  lyric  (cf.  the  song 
Waly,  Waly) ;  but  this  touch  is  final.  Mr.  Furnivall  pours  out  his 
wrath  on  the  Child's  cursedness  and  brutality  {Folio,  II,  278) ;  but 
he  goes  too  far.  Child  Waters  is  abominably  callous,  but  he  has 
heart  enough  to  respond  to  this  last  and  unconscious  appeal.  More- 
over, the  response  is  no  sentiment,  but  practical  amends. 


FAIR   ANNIE. 

Printed  by  Scott  in  the  Minstrelsy  ;  Child,  III,  63  ff.  The  same 
story  is  told  by  Marie  de  France  in  the  Lai  del  Freisne,  '  three  hun- 
dred years  older  than  any  manuscript  of  the  ballad,'  though  not  the 
source  of  the  latter.  Scott  was  moved  by  the  resemblance,  or  iden- 
tity, of  the  stories  to  remark  '  that  the  romantic  ballads  of  later 
times  are,  for  the  most  part,  abridgments  of  the  ancient  metrical 
romances,  narrated  in  a  smoother  stanza  and  more  modern  lan- 
guage.' 

1  2.    your  lane  =  alone.     Cf.  Fair  Mary,  9  4. 

4  4.  Married  women  wore  their  hair  bound  up,  or  under  a  cap ; 
maidens  'wore  it  loose  or  in  a  braid.'  See  Child,  III,  64,  note. 

22  2.     lilly  lee  =  lilied  or  flowery  meadow. 

22  3.    grew  means  a  greyhound. 


356  NOTES. 


WILLIE'S    LADY. 

From  Mrs.  Brown  of  Falkland,  and  printed,  with  some  altera- 
tions, in  Scott's  Minstrelsy;  see  Child,  I,  81  ff.,  for  interesting 
illustrations  and  parallels. 

3  2.     lighter  =  delivered  of  her  child. 

7  2.     '  Let  her  be  ...  and  this  goodlie  gift  .  .  .' 

11  2.  Seems  to  be  spoken  by  the  husband  ;  but  it  may  be  the 
suffering  wife,  as  in  Professor  Child's  earlier  collection,  I,  164. 

13  2.     Leed.     '  Perhaps  Lydia,'  says  Scott,  —  a  bold  suggestion. 

15  2.  chess  is  for  jess,  '  the  strap  or  cord  attached  to  a  hawk's  leg 
and  to  the  leash.' 

29  1.  Billy  Blin.  See  Child,  I,  67,  introduction  to  Gil  Brenton. 
This  '  serviceable  household  demon '  is  one  of  the  friendly  spirits  of 
the  home  so  common  in  folk-lore  and  familiar  in  another  guise  even 
to  Milton  (L 'Allegro,  '  the  drudging  goblin  ').  The  word  bil  'seems 
to  point  to  a  just  and  kindly-tempered  being.'  Scott,  in  a  note, 
pointed  out  the  Billy  Blind  '  in  the  rustic  game  of  Bogle,'  a  sort  of 
blindman's-buff. 

31,  32.  Verses  have  apparently  dropped  out  at  this  point ;  and 
the  rimes,  as  elsewhere,  leave  a  great  deal  to  be  desired.  Probably, 
too,  a  stanza  is  omitted  between  33  and  34. 

34.  On  the  malignant  effects  of  these  knots,  see  Professor  Child, 
p.  85. 

37  1.     master  =  big. 


YOUNG   BEICHAN. 

Version  A,  Child,  II,  454  ff.,  with  4,  5,  6,  7,  8  from  H  (Kinloch's 
Ballads :  in  H  =  7,  8,  9,  10,  11),  and  the  name  Beichan  instead  of 
Bicham  as  in  A.  A  favorite  ballad,  especially  in  such  versions  as 
The  Loving  Ballad  of  Lord  Bateman,  which  Cruikshank  illustrated 
(1839) ;  as  a  story,  it  is  related  to  the  following  ballad  of  Hind 
Horn.  For  the  connection  of  Beichan  (or  Bekie)  with  Gilbert  Beket, 
father  of  the  Canterbury  saint,  see  Child,  p.  457  ff. 

2.  In  some  versions  this  treatment  is  caused  by  Beichan 's  refusal 
to  bow  a  knee  to  '  onie  of  their  stocks  '  in  '  Grand  Turkie.' 

2  2.     tree  —  piece  of  wood  :  cf.  our  axletree. 

11  2.     white  money  =  silver. 


NOTES.  357 

14.  In  two  other  versions,  as  undoubtedly  in  the  original  forms 
of  the  ballad,  it  is  the  Billy  Blin  (see  preceding  ballad)  who  warns 
the  heroine  of  Beichan's  impending  marriage. 

15  4.     We  must,  in  all  civility,  concede  this  line  to  the  minstrel. 

22  1.  In  other  versions,  cups  and  cans  fly,  as  Beichan  Very  properly 
kicks  over  his  table. 


HIND    HORN. 

See  Child,  I,  201,  for  this.version  from  Motherwell's  MS.;  and 
I,  192  f.,  for  the  relations  of  the  ballads  to  the  famous  gest  of  King 
Horn  (i3th  century),  the  latter  being  in  all  probability  founded  on 
older  ballads  now  lost  beyond  chance  of  recovery.  As  Professor 
Child  remarks,  this  ballad  gives  only  the  catastrophe  of  the  story. 
—  ///«</=  young  man,  stripling. 

4  2.     lavrocks  =  larks. 

6  2.  Not  literally  '  gone,  of  course,  for  she  remains  always  true 
to  Horn,  but  rather  '  in  danger.' —  For  other  warnings  of  trouble  at 
home,  see  Child,  p.  200  f.  Somewhat  similar  sympathy  with  human 
emotions  is  felt  by  a  stone  in  a  certain  Rathhaus  (Kuhn-Schwarz, 
Norddeutsche  Sagen,  p.  249),  which  turns  from  red  to  blue  when  a 
maiden  whispers  to  it  her  story  of  misfortune.  Grimm  (Deutsche 
Sagen,  No.  41)  tells  of  a  sword  belonging  to  Countess  Rantzau  :  if 
it  turned  black,  it  meant  the  death  of  one  of  her  family.  —  Other 
instances  are  given  by  Child,  II,  268  f.,  under  the  head  of  tests  for 
loyalty,  virtue,  and  the  like. 

11  2.  Prolonged,  of  course,  by  the  bride,  who  hopes  for  her  lover 
to  the  last. 


KATHARINE   JAFFRAY. 

This  is  the  ballad  which  Scott  imitated  in  his  Young  Lochinvar. 
As  here  printed  it  is  Child's  A  (VII,  219)  from  Herd's  MSS. —  For 
the  make-up  of  Scott's  version  in  the  Minstrelsy  (The  Laird  of 
Lamington  ;  in  later  editions  Katharine  Janfarie),  see  Child,  p.  230  f. 
—  Other  ballads  of  bride-stealing,  —  peace,  however,  to  primitive 
Germans,  modern  peasants,  and  above  all,  the  Sabines, — are  Bonny 
Baby  Livingston,  The  Lady  of  Arngosk,  and  Eppie  Aforrie  ;  the  latter 
tells  in  vigorous  fashion  of  an  attempt  of  this  sort  which  was  frus- 
trated by  the  heroine's  affinity  to  Brunhild  in  the  Nibelungen.  A 


358  NOTES. 

graphic  description  of  Highland  bride-stealing  is  given  by  Scott  in 
his  Introduction  to  Rob  Roy :  see  the  ballad  of  that  name,  Child, 
VII,  243  ff. 

11  3.  Evidently  she  is  wrong.  We  must  assume  the  bride  to  be 
faithful  to  her  first  love,  and  consenting  to  the  abduction  ;  hence 
one  version  alters  to  '  It's  a'  fair  play.'  Perhaps  it  is  the  deserted 
bridegroom  who  gars  the  trumpets  sound  '  foul  play.' 

13  l.  'To  haik  up  and doivn,  to haik  about,  to  drag  from  one  place 
to  another  to  little  purpose,  conveying  the  idea  of  fatigue  caused  to 
the  person  who  is  thus  carried  about.' —  Jamieson,  Dictionary. 

13  3.  Frogs,  toads,  snakes  are  served  for  fish,  and  act  as  a  poison : 
see  Lord  Randal,  and  remarks,  Child,  I,  155,  157. 


THE   GAY    GOSHAWK. 

Printed  by  Scott  in  the  Minstrelsy  ;  here  from  Version  A,  Child, 

IV,  357  f. 

7.  See  4. —  Although  the  Jamieson-Brown  MS.  has  she  in  7  3,  it 
seems  evident  that  we  should  read  he,  the  goshawk  being  meant : 
see  also  1  2. 

8  2.     Shot-windows  :   see  Glossary. 

10  4.  See  note  to  Young  Hunting,  18  3, 4.  Professor  Child  notes 
that  rationalism,  working  its  way  into  ballads,  is  fain  to  substitute 
parrots  for  all  these  birds  that  speak  and  understand. 

19.     A  'drowsy  syrup.' 

26.     For  parallel  cases,  see  Child,  IV,  355  f. 

28  2.  Sound  your  horn  is  evidently  a  taunt ;  cf.  Chaucer's  phrase 
'blowe  the  bukkes  horn'  (Miller's  Tale,  v.  201),  and  the  fate  of  a 
rejected  lover  (Knighfs  Tale,  v.  980): 

'  He  mot  go  pypen  in  an  ivy-leeL' 
See  Morris's  note  to  the  latter,  Clarendon  Press  Ed.,  p.  151. 


KING   ESTMERE. 

Percy  tore  from  his  MS.  the  leaves  on  which  this  ballad  was 
written,  and  sent  them  to  the  press  ;  it  is  certain  that  he  made  both 
alterations  and  interpolations,  only  material,  however,  near  the  end. 
The  edition  of  the  Reliaues  published  in  1794  professed  to  restore 


NOTES.  359 

the  ballad  to  closer  relations  with  the  original  ;  but  critics  agree 
that  63-66  are  Percy's  own  manufacture,  and  we  have  to  reckon 
with  the  usual  editorial  corrections  in  other  parts  of  the  text.  —  See 
Child,  III,  49  ff. 

I  4.     borne  =  dissyllable  (boren). 

4  4.  able  =  of  proper  rank  :  cf  .  '  capable  '  in  Lear,  ii,  i  :  '  Loyal 
and  natural  boy,  I'll  work  the  means  To  make  thee  capable,'  —  i.e. 
'  able  to  inherit,  though  illegitimate,'  —  said  to  Edmund. 

6  4.     '  Between  me  and  the  lady.' 

II  3.     'Take  her  to  wife.' 

12  3.  The  usual  phrase  is  '  nicked  -with  nay.'  See  Scotisk  Ffeilde, 
Percy  Folio,  I,  215,  v.  53. 

15  2.  in  halle  =  among  the  men.  So,  in  the  Nibelungen,  it  is  a 
great  favor  to  Siegfried  that  Kriemhild  is  brought  to  court  where 
he  may  see  her.  The  attendance,  moreover,  is  much  the  same  as 
Kriemhild's  :  N.  L.,  st.  277  ff. 

25  4.     the  —  they. 

36  2.  gramarye  =  magic,  which  of  course  had  its  connection  with 
runes,  with  writing,  and  then  with  abstruse  lore  of  every  kind. 

47  l.  The  gift  of  an  arm-ring  was  the  commonest  form  of  reward 
among  the  Germanic  races.  A  king,  from  his  habit  of  breaking  off 
rings  from  the  long  spiral  on  his  arm,  and  giving  these  as  rewards, 
was  called  in  A.-S.  'the  ring-breaker.'  It  is  with  arm-rings  that 
Hildebrand  makes  a  last  appeal  to  his  son  :  see  Hildebrandslied, 


47  3.     '  And  ever  we  desire  thee,'  etc. 

49.     Cf.  Chaucer,  Squire  's  Tale,  v.  69  ff.  : 
Whil  that  the  kyng  sit  thus  .  .  . 
In  atte  halle  dore  al  sodeynly 
Ther  com  a  knight  upon  a  steed  of  bras. 

For  other  references  for  this  custom,  as  well  as  for  that  of  stabling 
the  steed  in  the  hall,  see  Child,  III,  51. 

54  2.     Looked  at  him  narrowly,  at  close  quarters. 


KEMP   OWYNE. 

Child,  II,  306  ;  printed  in  Motherwell's  Minstrelsy.  Another 
version  is  Kempion  in  Scott's  Minstrelsy.  The  central  motive  of 
the  ballad  is  found  frequently  in  popular  tradition:  see  Child,  p.  307  f. 
Owyne  is  in  name  identical  with  the  Owain  or  Ywein  of  the  romances, 
though  the  latter  say  nothing  of  this  adventure. 


360  NOTES. 


TAM    LIN. 

This  ballad,  interesting  in  so  many  ways,  is  printed  here  in  the 
version  communicated  by  Burns  to  Johnson's  Museum  (Child,  II,  340), 
and  freely  used  by  Scott  in  compounding  The  Young  Tamlane  for 
his  Alinstrelsy.  It  is  impossible  in  this  place  to  discuss  such  features 
of  the  ballad  as  the  transformation,  and  the  hints  of  faery,  or  the 
relations  and  parallels  in  other  literature.  Scott  wrote  an  admirable 
essay  '  On  the  Fairies  of  Popular  Superstition '  by  way  of  introduction 
to  the  ballad. 

1  3.  '  Carterhaugh  is  a  plain  at  the  confluence  of  the  Ettrick  and 
Yarrow  in  Selkirkshire.' —  Scott. 

5-6.     See  Babylon,  2. 

14  2.  elfin  grey.  '  The  usual  dress  of  the  Fairies,'  says  Scott  in 
his  Introduction,  '  is  green ;  though  on  the  moors,  they  have  been 
sometimes  observed  in  heath-brown,  or  in  weeds  dyed  with  the  stone- 
raw  or  lichen,' —  and  in  a  note  :  '  Hence  the  hero  of  the  ballad  is 
termed  an  elfin  grey? 

20.     '  Were  you  ever  christened  ? ' 

24.  Hallowe'en  is  the  eve  of  All  Saints  (i  November),  which  is 
easily  merged  in  All  Souls  (2  November),  a  festival  once  purely 
heathen  and  celebrated  as  a  part  of  the  universal  manes-cult  or 
worship  of  the  dead.  A  general  feast  was  held  at  which  the  dead 
were  thought  to  be  present;  and  Widukind,  describing  such  a  feast 
which  took  place  in  980,  explicitly  tells  us  of  the  move  by  which 
these  rites  got  a  slight  change  in  character  and  a  great  change  in 
name.  Evidently  this  is  the  proper  time  for  spirits  to  visit  the 
earth.  On  the  night  of  the  second  of  November  European  peasants 
until  lately  set  out  food  for  the  spirits,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to 
offer  them  a  bath. 

28.     See  note  to  Fair  Janet,  20  3. 

33  3,  4.  '  Immersion  in  a  liquid,  generally  water,  but  sometimes 
milk,  is  a  process  requisite  for  passing  from  a  non-human  shape, 
produced  by  enchantment,  back  into  the  human.  .  .  .' —  Child,  II,  338. 

36  2.     The  proper  sign  of  a  fairy  procession. 

39  4.    groom  =  man. 

41  4.     tree  =  wood.     Tarn  can  recognize  fairy  folk. 


NOTES.  361 


THOMAS    RYMER. 

From  Mrs.  Brown's  recitation;  see  Child,  II,  317  ff. —  This  ballad 
retains  the  essential  features  of  a  .  story  which  has  served  the 
purposes  of  political  prophecy,  and  is  to  some  extent  connected 
with  historical  personages.  These  essential  features  are  the  love  of 
a  fairy  and  a  mortal,  and  the  visit  which  the  latter  makes  to  fairy- 
land. In  fuller  detail  this  story  is  told  in  the  poem  known  as  Thomas 
of  Erceldoune  (ed.  Murray,  E.  E.  T.  Soc.,  and  Brandl,  Berlin,  1880), 
which  is  probably  the  source  of  the  ballad.  At  the  end  of  his  visit, 
Thomas  receives  from  the  elf-queen  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  at  his 
request  she  tells  him  a  number  of  things  which  concern  the  future 
of  Scotland,  —  often  surprisingly  close  to  history,  though  clothed  in 
mystical  expressions,  and  made,  of  course,  after  the  event.  Thomas 
Rymour,  '  True  Thomas,'  thus  obtained  a  great  reputation,  and  was 
potent  to  console  or  alarm  the  Scottish  peasant  '  down  to  the  begin- 
ning of  this  century.'  For  an  analysis  of  the  prophecies,  see  Brandl, 
p.  29  ff.;  for  the  historic  foundation  and  the  personality  of  the  author, 
Child,  p.  318.  It  is  probable  that  in  the  original  story  True  Thomas 
went  back  to  fairyland,  never,  or,  like  Arthur,  Barbarossa,  and  the 
rest,  only  at  some  far-off  consummation  of  things  or  stress  of  fate, 
to  return  to  earth  :  see  Professor  Child  (p.  319  f.)  on  Ogier  le  Danois 
and  Morgan  the  Fay.  Two  stanzas  (5,  6)  are  inserted  from  Scott's 
version  in  the  Minstrelsy. 

3.     This  is  a  trait  of  the  poem  as  well  as  of  the  related  romances. 

5  1.     '  Harp  and  sing':  see  Introduction,  above,  p.  lxxiii» 

5  3,  4.     To  kiss  a  fairy  or  a  spirit  puts  a  mortal  in  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  other  world  :  see  Sweet  William's  Ghost,  4  : 

And  if  I  kiss  thy  comely  mouth, 
Thy  life-days  will  not  be  long. 

The  motive  is  artistically  treated  in  Goethe's  Braut  von  Corinth. 

6  4.     '  The  Eildon  Tree  .  .  .  now  no  longer  exists ;  but  the  spot 
is  marked  by  a  large  stone  called  Eildon  Tree  Stone.' —  Scott. 

9  4.  In  the  poem  this  passage  of  the  waters  is  better  emphasized 
(ed.  Brandl,  xxviiif.): 

Scho  [she]  ledde  hym  in  at  Eldonehill 

Undirnethe  a  derne  [secret]  lee, 
Where  it  was  dirke  as  mydnyght  myrke 
And  ever  water  till  his  knee. 

The  montenans  of  dayes  three 

He  herd  bot  swoghyng  of  the  flode.  .  .  . 


362  NOTES. 

11  2.     A  well-known  precaution  from  Proserpine's  day  to  this. 

12.  As  Professor  Child  remarks,  this  is  'honest  bread  and  wine' 
which  the  fairy  has  considerately  brought  with  her. 

15  2.  lillie  leven  —  a  lawn  covered  with  lilies  and  flowers,  — '  the 
primrose  path  of  dalliances'  or  rather  the  route  described  by 
Macbeth's  porter. 

17.  Another  well-known  precaution  :  see  Child,  p.  322,  note,  who 
quotes  Falstaff  (Merry  Wives,  v,  5):  'They  are  fairies;  he  that 
speaks  to  them  shall  die.'  Of  course,  if  a  colloquy  was  unavoidable, 
Latin  was  the  only  refuge. 

18  1.     even  cloth  =  smooth,  fine  texture? 


THE   WEE    WEE   MAN. 

Printed  by  Herd  in  his  Ancient  and  Modern  Scottish  Songs  ;  Child, 
II,  330.  —  For  the  older  poem,  and  added  prophecies,  connected 
with  the  ballad  but  not  the  source  of  it,  see  Child,  pp.  329  f.,  333  f. 

2  2.     Another  version  has  : 

'  And  sma'  and  limber  was  his  thie.' 


ST.    STEPHEN   AND    HEROD. 

Often  printed  from  a  MS.  said  to  be  of  the  time  of  Henry  VI. 
For  the  legend  and  related  literature,  see  Professor  Child's  intro- 
duction, I,  233  ff.  The  ballad  'was  sung  as  a  carol  for  St.  Stephen's 
day,' —  26  December. 

1  2.     befalle,  subjunctive  for  indicative:  'as  befits,' — 'as  is  cus- 
tomary with.  .  .  .' 

2  l.     The  Christmas  dish  of  old  England,  brought  into  hall  with 
pomp  of  procession  and  a  carol  and  Latin  refrain  : 

'  Caput  apri  defero, 
Reddens  laudes  Domino  .  .  .' 

Two  English  carols  for  the  occasion  are  printed  by  Ritson,  Ancient 
Songs  (1790),  p.  125  ff. 

4  2.     Bedlem  =  Bethlehem. 

7  1.  or  tliu  gynnyst  to  brede  =  '  beginnest  to  entertain  capricious 
fancies,  like  a  woman.' —  Child. 

12  2.     The  eve  of  St.  Stephen's  is,  of  course,  Christmas  night. 


GLOSSARY. 


A  (in  a  ivat,  wot),  I  :  Sweet  Will- 
iam's Ghost,  i2;  Beichan,  23*. 

a,  a',  all. 

a,  on,  of. 

abone,  aboon,  above. 

ae,  one  :  see  tae,  tone. 

ain,  own. 

aim,  aims,  iron. 

alther,  alder,  alre  (gen.  pi.),  of  all. 

almus,  alms. 

ancients,  ensigns. 

and,  if. 

ane,  one. 

ankir,  anchorite. 

as  (with  subjunctive),  as  if. 

aught,  owns  (Lady  Alaisry,  ii6). 

auld,  old. 

avowe,  vow. 

avowe,  founder  or  patron. 

awayte,  to  lie  in  wait. 

awkivarde,  ackward,  unexpected, 
evil  (auk);  or  perhaps  simply 
'  backward,'  back-handed. 

ayre,  heir. 

Ba,  bet,  ball. 
baffled,  disgraced. 
bale,  balys,  evil,  harm,  ruin. 
ban,  band. 

bande,  bond,  agreement. 
bane,  banis,  murderer. 
bar,  bore,  carried. 
barne,  berne,  a  man. 
basnet,  basnites,  bassonnettes,  hel- 
met. 


bauld,  bold. 

be,  p.  p.,  been. 

be,  by,  bi,  near. 

beams  (MS.  //canes),  see  note,  Ztor- 
ta«,  272. 

bearing-arrow,  an  arrow  that  car- 
ries well  (?). 

bedone,  wrought. 

beery 's,  biers. 

begoud  (Beichan,  83),  began  ;  cf. 
begouth,  Harbour,  Bruce,  ix,  183 
(Murray). 

behote,  promise  (Gest,  315');  prom- 
ised (Gest,  297 3). 

bclive,  blive,  quickly. 

ben,  within  (the  house). 

benbow,  bent  bow  ;  bow. 

bent,  open  grassy  place,  field. 

ber  (Cheviot,  424),  thrust,  pierced  ; 
cf.  Chaucer,  Knight's  Tale,  v. 
1398. 

berne  (see  barnc),  a  man. 

bestand  (R.  If.  Death,  23*),  to 
bestead,  avail. 

bested,  placed,  circumstanced:  see 
note,  Gest,  I383. 

bestis,  beasts. 

bete,  to  remedy,  to  mend. 

beth,  be,  are. 

bi,  by;  bi  west,  in  the  west. 

biek,  to  bask. 

bigget,  builded. 

biggins,  buildings. 

bigly,  spacious,  ample. 

billie,  bully,  brother,  comrade. 


364 


GLOSSARY. 


bird,  burd,  maiden,  young  woman. 

dirk,  birch. 

birld,  poured  out. 

blan,  blane,  blanne  (blinne), 
stopped,  ceased. 

blawn  (Lady  Maisry,  2O3)  = 
blawin',  blowing :  present  par- 
ticiple in  elliptical  construc- 
tion (?). 

blinne,  to  stop,  cease. 

blood-irons,  lancets. 

blowe,  to  brag  (Gest,  59*). 

blyve,  belyve,  quickly. 

bode,  bidden,  invited. 

bolte,  arrow  with  blunt  head. 

bond,  bound. 

bone,  boon. 

boote,  remedy. 

bord,  horde,  table. 

borowe,  surety. 

borrow,  borowed,  to  ransom. 

bolder,  butler. 

botery,  buttery,  place  for  liquors. 

both,  be,  are. 

bowne,  bowynd,  to  prepare. 

boun,  bowyn,  prepared,  made 
ready. 

boys  (bowys),  bows. 

brae  (Cock,  1 7*),  brow. 

brae,  hill,  hill-side. 

braider,  broader. 

braw,  brave,  handsome. 

bread,  breadth. 

brede,  see  note,  St.  Stephen,  7*. 

bree,  brow. 

brente,  burnt. 

br ether,  brothers. 

briddis,  birds. 

briggs,  bridges. 

broad-arrow  (see  bearing-arrow), 
an  arrow  with  broad  head,  'for 
cleaving.' 

broche,  tap  :  a  broche,  abroach,  on 
tap. 

,  braided, 


broke,  brook,  to  enjoy,  use. 

broken  (men),  outlaws. 

brome,  broom. 

broo,  broth. 

brook,  see  broke. 

brown,  browne  (of  swords),  glit- 
tering, bright  ;  or  simply, 
'  browned  against  rust  ? '  See 
note,  Maurice,  25'. 

bryttlynge,  breaking  or  cutting  up, 
quartering  of  slain  animals. 

bully  (see  billie),  friend,  comrade, 
brother-in-arms. 

burd,  see  bird. 

burn,  a  brook. 

burn-brae,  '  the  acclivity  at  the 
bottom  of  which  a  rivulet  runs.' 
—  Jamieson. 

buske,  to  dress,  prepare,  make 
ready  to  go. 

buske,  bush. 

buss,  bush. 

busshement,  ambush. 

but,  except,  unless. 

byckarte,  skirmished.  . 

byddys,  abides,  remains. 

by  dene  ('for  bi  hie?'1  conjectures 
Stratmann ;  but  see  Ilempl, 
Academy,  25  April,  1891,  p.  395: 
bi  \>e  ene  >  bffie-ene  >  bidene), 
together,  at  once. 

bylle,  bill,  sword,  battle-axe. 

byn,  be,  are. 

byre,  cowhouse,  stable. 

byst,  art. 

Ca,  to  call. 

ca'd,  drove,  hit. 

can,  for  gan,  often  combined  with 
an  infinitive  to  express  the  past 
tense:  can  I  see  (Gest,  i842),  I 
saw. 

can  (Gest,  2io2),  knows. 

canst,  knowest. 

^  horse's  hide, 


GLOSSARY. 


365 


care,  anxiety. 

care-bed,  sick-bed ;  care-bed  taen, 
fallen  sick  with  anxiety. 

carefull,  full  of  care,  sorrowful. 

carl,  man. 

carlin,  carline,  old  woman. 

carp,  carpe,  sing,  narrate. 

cast,  to  intend. 

cast,  a  throw,  as  in  dice. 

cawte,  wary. 

channerin,  fretting. 

chap,  to  knock. 

chays,  chase,  hunting-park. 

chepe,  bargain. 

chere,  face  (Gest,  282);  entertain- 
ment (Gest,  6 14). 

chess  (for  jess),  strap :  see  note, 
Willie's  Lady,  1 52. 

child,  children  (R.  H.  Death,  7'), 
title  of  honor,  knight,  brave 
fellow. 

Christendom  (Tarn  Lin,  2O4),  chris- 
tening, baptism. 

dame,  climbed. 

(leading,  clothing. 

close,  doss,  a  narrow  place ;  a  court- 
yard. 

coffer  (Sir  Hugh,  II2),  though 
ridiculous  enough  in  this 
place,  must  mean  box,  small 
trunk. 

cole,  cowl. 

collayne,  Cologne  [steel]. 

coped,  knocked,  struck. 

corbie,  crow. 

coresed  (Gest,  loo3)  ?  Professor 
Child  suggests  '  possibly  bodied, 
in  fine  condition.' 

cars,  cucse. 

corser,  see  note,  Gest,  256'. 

corsiare,  courser. 

cote-a-pye,  upper  garment,  short 
coat :  cf .  courtepy. 

cond,  knew. 

iron  blade  pf  a  plough, 


couth    (Gay  Goshawk,  23),    word, 

saying  (cwide). 
covent,  convent. 
cowthe,  could. 
cracked  (Bewick,  4*),  defied,  bid 

boastful  defiance  to. 
craftely,  skillfully. 
craw,  to  crow. 
cressawntes,  crescents. 
crye,  to  announce  by  a  crier. 
cun  (can),  know;  cun  .  .  ,  thankg, 

feel  gratitude,  '  savoir  gre.' 
curch,  kerchief,  head-covering. 

Dame,  mother. 

daunton,  to  frighten. 

daw,  to  dawn. 

dawin,  dawning. 

de,  to  die. 

dead,  deed,  death. 

deal  (fair  Marg.  and  Sweet  IV., 
16'),  give  out  as  '  dole.' 

dee,  to  do. 

dele,  part,  bit ;  no  dele,  not  at 
all. 

demed,  judged. 

departed,  divided,  parted. 

dere,  harm,  injury. 

derne,  secret,  dark. 

did,  dyde,  caused. 

did  (them),  betook  themselves, 
went. 

dight,  dyght,  prepared,  done  ;  fur- 
nished (Barton,  28*). 

ding,  to  beat,  cast. 

disgrate,  fallen  in  fortune,  inno- 
cently disgraced. 

disheritcd,  dispossessed. 

do,  to  cause. 

doen  (/ie's  doen  him),  betaken 
himself,  gone. 

done,  down  (Cheviot,  30"). 

donne,  dun. 

dool,  doole,  dule,  sorrow, 

dou(t  dread,  danger, 


366 


GLOSSARY, 


dmvna  (/),  I  dislike  to,  cannot 
bear  to. 

dowy,  dowie,  sad,  sadly. 

days,  does. 

dre,  dree,  drie,  drye,  to  endure, 
suffer. 

duckers,  divers. 

dughty,  doughty,  capable. 

dule,  see  dool. 

dyghtande,  preparing,  in  prepara- 
tion :  see  note,  Gest,  3884.  — 
See  dig/it. 

dynte,  a  blow. 

Rare,  heir. 

een,  eyes. 

eerie,  sad,  melancholy. 

cftsooncs,  again,  afterwards. 

eke  (Otterburn,  57"),  each. 

eldern,  elderly. 

erne,  uncle. 

cmys,  gen.  sing.,  uncle's. 

envye,  injury. 

ere,  previously. 

ere,  to  inherit,  possess. 

esk,     ask,     lizard,     newt     (A.-S. 

aftechse). 

even,  precisely,  exactly. 
even,  smooth. 
everilkon,  everyone. 
eylyt,  aileth. 

Fa,  to  befall,  betide. 

fache,  to  fetch. 

fudge,  a  thick  cake  (Jamieson), 
and  figuratively  a  clumsy  wo? 
man. 

faem,  foam. 

fall,  to  happen,  become,  chance. 

fare,  doings. 

farley,  ferlcy,  strange,  wonderful. 

farleys,  ferlies,  strange  things. 

fashes  (MS.  fishes),  troubles,  dis- 
turbances, storms. 

fause,  false. 


fawken,  falcon. 

fay,  faith. 

faylyd,  missed. 

fe,fee,  pay,  money,  property. 

feale,  fail. 

feders,  feathers. 

fer,ferre,  far. 

ferd  (Alonk,  52*),  fear. 

fere,  fellowship,  company:  in  fere, 
together. 

ferly,  see  farley. 

ferlies,  see  farleys. 

fet,fette,  fetched. 

fctteled,  made  ready. 

jlrstin,  the  first. 

fil,fytte,  division  of  a  ballad. 

Jilt,  strain  of  music  (Estmere, 
6o3). 

fivesome,  five  together :  cf.  A.-S. 
sum  with  genitives  of  the  car- 
dinal numbers  (eahta  sum},  or 
in  a  phrase  like  feara  sum 
(Beow.,  v.  1412),  'one  of  a 
few,'  'a  few  together.' 

flatters,  flutters,  moves  quickly 
about. 

flatteritig,  fluttering  ( Young  Hun- 
ting, 72). 

flee,  to  fly. 

ftecd,  flood. 

fleyd  (Kinmont  W.,  362),  fright- 
ened, put  to  flight. 

fo'd,  foaled. 

feme,  foes. 

forbyc,  beyond. 

force,  fors,  matter,  account :  do 
nofors,  'lay  no  stress  upon.' 

forehammers,  sledge-hammers. 

forenent,  in  the  face  of. 

forgone,  to  forego,  lose. 

foriete,  forgotten. 

forlorn,  utterly  lost,  forfeited. 

fors,  see  force. 

forsters,  foresters. 

fostere,  forester. 


GLOSSARY. 


367 


fon,  full. 

fourlllin,  the  fourth. 

fowarde,  the  van. 

frebore,  freeborn,  gentle. 

free,  noble,  open,  excellent. 

freke,  freyke,  man;  pi.,  J frecky -s. 

frembde,  fremde,  strange. 

frere,  friar. 

frese  ? 

fu,  full. 

fule,  fowl. 

furs,  furrows,  ground. 

fynde,  perhaps  for  fine,  to  end, 

conclude,  Cheviot,  24*. 
fynly,  fine,  goodly. 

Ga,  gae,  to  go. 

gaed,  went. 

gan,  with  infinitives ;  see  can : 
Gest,  2 14,  and  often. 

gang,  gange,  to  go. 

gar,  garre,  gard,  garde,  to  cause, 
make  :  and  see  note,  Otter- 
burn,  244. 

gare,  a  piece  of  cloth ;  a  part  of 
the  dress  :  see  note,  W.  and 
Lady  Maisry,  1 1 2. 

garlande,  see  note,  Guy,  y2. 

gate,  got. 

gate,  went. 

gates,  paths. 

gaud,  a  bar. 

gear,  property  (Fair  Annie,  i5); 
dress  (Crtiel  Bro.,  2i3). 

geare,  (Barton,  472),  affair. 

gete,  got. 

gettyng,  booty. 

gied,  gave. 

gimp,  slender:  seejimfl. 

gin,  if. 

girds,  hoops. 

glave,  sword. 

gleat,  glitter. 

glede,  gleed,  flame,  fire,  a  live  coal. 

goe,  gone,  to  walk. 


golett,  throat,  part  of  hood  cover- 
ing the  throat. 

goud,  gowd,  gold. 

gound,  gown. 

gowden,  golden. 

gowdcn-graithi'd,  caparisoned  with 
gold. 

gramarcy,  thanks. 

gramarye,  learning,  magic. 

grat,  (see  greet),  wept. 

greahondes,  greyhounds. 

gree,  satisfaction. 

greet,  to  weep,  wail. 

greete,  gravel,  grit. 

greffe,  grief. 

gresse,  grass. 

grevis,  groves. 

grew,  greyhound. 

grith,  peace,  security. 

grome,  groom,  a  man. 

grounden,  sharpened. 

growende,  ground. 

grysely,  direfully. 

gryte,  (Two  Sisters,  2i2),  great. 

Ha,  hall. 

hacheborde,  see  note,  Barton,  2$3. 

hacked,     (Barton,    $62),    chased, 

marked,  overlaid. 
had,  to  hold. 
hae,  to  have. 
haik,   to   drag  about :    see  note, 

K.  Jaffray,  13'. 
haldcn,  held. 
halfendell,  half. 
half-gate,  half-way. 
halke,  corner,  recess,  covert. 
haly,  holy. 

halyd,  haled,  hauled,  pulled. 
kaud,  to  hold. 
haugh,  flat  ground  on  the  border 

of  a  river. 
haylle,  hale,  strong. 
hayscll,  hazel. 
he,  high. 


368 


GLOSSARY. 


heal,  hail. 

heiding-hill,  hill  of  beheading, 
execution. 

hem,  them. 

hende,  courteous,  gentle. 

heng,  to  hang. 

hente,  seized. 

hepe,  hip,  '  the  fruit  of  the  dog- 
rose.' 

her,  their. 

herry,  to  harm,  plunder,  spoil. 

he's,  he  shall,  must. 

het,  hot. 

he\ye\de,  head,  person. 

hight,  hyght,  promise,  promised. 

hight  (on),  on  high. 

him,  reflexive  pronoun,  'himself '; 
Gest,  24*. 

him,  substantive  dative. 

hind,  a  young  man. 

hinde  (hende),  gentle. 

hoky-gren  (  Young  Hunting,  2$b)  ? 
—  Jamieson,  s.  v.  hoakie,  '  a 
fire  that  has  been  covered  up 
with  cinders,  when  all  the  fuel 
has  become  red.'  —  gren  = 
twig,  bough. 

hoi,  hole,  whole. 

holde,  shelter  (Car,  i4);  possession, 
stronghold. 

holde,  to  retain  as  counsel  or 
advocate. 

holland,  a  kind  of  linen. 

holies,  woods. 

hom  (=  hem),  them. 

hongut,  hanged. 

hooly,  slowly. 

hors,  horses. 

houzle,  housel,  the  Eucharist. 

hoved,  remained,  waited,  hovered 
about. 

hunds,  hounds,  dogs. 

husbonde,  head  of  a  family,  farm- 
er, manager. 

hy,  high  :  on  hy,  upright. 


hye,  (upon),  aloud. 

hye,  haste  (Monk,  5o2). 

hyght  (on),  aloud. 

hyght  (see  hight),  promised. 

hypped,  hopped,  limped. 

/,  see  y— . 
ifedred,  feathered. 
ilka,  each  one,  each. 
ill-far'd,  ill-favored. 
in-fere,  together. 
inocked,  notched. 
infill,  into,  in. 
ipyght,  pitched,  set  up. 
iquyt,  requited,  rewarded. 
Pse,  I  shall,  I  must. 
iwys,  iwysse,  certainly. 
iyn,  eyes. 

Jacke,  a  leather  coat,  or  coat  of 

mail. 

japis,  jokes. 

jaw,  wave  ( Two  Sisters,  9*) . 
jimp,    slender ;     tightly,    closely 

(Fair  Annie,  43). 
jo,  sweetheart. 
just,  joust. 

Kaim,  kerns,  comb. 

keepe,  kepe,  to  guard  ;  to  care  for, 
to  like,  to  esteem. 

kell,  head-dress  or  net  worn  by 
women. 

kembing,  combing. 

kempe,  kempes,  warrior,  champion ; 
also  may  have  meant  'giant': 
see  Moller,  A.  E.  Volksepos, 
p.  74,  note. 

kemperye-man,  see  kempe. 

kettrin,  cataran,  band  of  High- 
land marauders. 

kevels,  lots. 

kilt,  to  tuck  up. 

kin,  kind  (a1  kin  kind  =  all  kinds 
of). 


GLOSSARY. 


369 


kirtell,  short  gown  or  tunic. 
kite hy -boy,  kitchen-boy. 
knave,  boy,  servant. 
knet,  knitted,  knotted. 
ky,  kine,  cattle. 
kyst,  to  cast,  throw. 
kythe,  to  become  known. 

Laith,  loath. 

lake,  shroud. 

lakit,  lakkyt,  lacketh. 

lane,  lone  ;  your  lane,  her  lane, 
alone. 

lap,  lappe,  lapt,  to  wrap. 

lap,  leapt. 

lasten,  last. 

lat,  cease,  desist,  let. 

late,  let. 

launsgay,  a  kind  of  spear. 

lavrocks,  larks. 

lawing,  inn-reckoning,  account. 

layde  down,  spent. 

layn,  layne,  sb.  and  verb,  lying, 
deception ;  to  lie. 

lear,  lore,  learning. 

lear,  lair,  resting-place. 

lease,  leash. 

lede,  train,  retinue  (Gest,  3682). 

ledes-man,  leader,  guide. 

ledyt,  imperative  plur.,  lead  (Ste- 
phen, ii2). 

lee  (lee-lang),  lief,  dear  (see  note, 
Brand,  II1). 

leeve,  dear,  lovely. 

leeve,  to  believe. 

lefe,  lief,  glad. 

leman,  sweetheart. 

lende,  to  grant,  lend. 

lende,  to  dwell. 

lent,  leaned. 

lere  (Gest,  28"),  cheek. 

lere,  to  learn ;  to  teach. 

lese,  to  lose. 

lesse  (Otterburn,  2$2,  A.-S.  Mas), 
a  lie. 


lesyng,  leasyng,  lying. 

let,  to  let ;  to  cause. 

let,  to  hinder. 

let,  to  desist,  be  hindered  (Child 
Maur.,  74). 

lette,  past  tense  of  let,  to  desist. 

leugh,  laughed. 

leutye,  lewte,  loyalty. 

leve,  to  permit. 

leven,  lawn. 

lewte,  see  leutye. 

lig,  to  lie. 

light,  lighte,  alighted. 

lighter,  delivered  (of  a  child). 

lightly,  to  undervalue,  treat  with 
contempt. 

lillie,  lilly,  explained  in  note  to 
Thomas  Rymer,  \£,  as  'lilied, 
flowery';  but  Professor  Child 
refers  to  Ballads,  VIII,  485, 
'  lilly  Londeen,'  which,  he 
thinks,  =  '  leeve  London,'  of 
other  passages;  so  that  lilly 
=  lovely,  fair  (A.-S.,  leofltc}. 

limmer,  scoundrel,  general  term 
of  reproach. 

lin,  to  cease. 

lither,  bad. 

lock,  look. 

lodging-maill,  rent. 

loe,  to  love. 

long  (of),  owing  to,  dependent 
upon  (Monk,  223). 

looten,  lotten,  let  (past  part.). 

lorne,  lost. 

loset,  loosed. 

loughe,  laughed. 

loup,  leap. 

louten,  bowed,  bent. 

lowe,  a  hillock. 

lowe,  fire,  flame. 

lowe,  humbly  (Gest,  432). 

lowne,  loun,  a  servant,  a  worthless 
person. 

lucettes,  luces,  pikes. 


370 


GLOSSARY. 


luikt,  looked. 
'lyed,  'lay,'  dwelt. 

lyed  (Monk,  14'),  gave  the  lie 
to. 

lyked,  pleased. 

lynde,  lyne,  linden;  tree  in  gen- 
eral. 

lyng,  heather,  long  grass. 

lyste,  pleases ;  me  lyste,  I  desire. 

lythe,  lithe,  listen. 

lyveray,  allowance  of  clothes 
(Gest,  7o3),  of  food  (Gest,  i6i3). 

Made,  caused. 

mae,  more. 

magger,  maugre  ;  in  the  magger 
of,  in  spite  of. 

make,  to  cause. 

make,  makes,  nAikys,  mate. 

male,  a  large  bag  or  portmanteau 
(Gest,  I342). 

male,  mail,  armor. 

march-man,  warrior  of  the  bor- 
der. 

march-parti,  border  side. 

marke  (hym), '  sign'  himself,  com- 
mit himself  to  the  Trinity  by 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross 
(Child,  1860). 

marke,  merke,  the  value  of  about 
13-!-.  4</.,  but  not  a  coin. 

marys,  handmaids,  ladies  in  wait- 
ing. 

masars,  cups,  bowls. 

master  (Willie 's  Lady,  37'),  big. 

mast,  mayst. 

masteryes,  trials  of  skill. 

maun,  must. 

may,  maid. 

meal,  mould,  earth. 

mede,  reward. 

meen,  moan. 

meikle,  mickle,  great. 

merked(one=on:  Otterburn,^*). 
aimed  at. 


messis,  masses. 

met,  mete,  measured. 

mete,  meat  ;  to  meat,  at  meat, 
dinner. 

met-yard,  'a  measuring-rod,  gen- 
erally a  tailor's.' 

meyne,  mene,  menye,  meany,  com- 
pany. 

mickle,  mykkel,  great,  mighty. 

mid-larf,  see  note,  Sweet  Wit- 
Hani's  Ghost,  5*. 

molde,  mould,  earth. 

monand,  moaning. 

m'ood,  error  for  my  God?  See 
note,  R.  H.  Death,  23'. 

morne,  morrow. 

mart,  death,  —  the  blast  blown  by 
hunters  when  game  has  been 
killed. 

most,  greatest. 

mote,  moot,  meeting,  court. 

mote,  may ;  mote  I  the,  '  may  I 
prosper.' 

moudie-hill,  mole  hillock  (Jamie- 
son). 

mountnance,  amount,  durance. 

myllan,  Milan  steel. 

mylner,  miller. 

myneple,  'manople,  a  gauntlet 
covering  hand  and  forearm,' 
Skeat,  Spec.,  p.  396  f. 

myster,  need. 

Nare,  nor. 

neigh,  to  approach  (Estmere,  556). 

nere,  nearer. 

nextin,  the  next. 

nicked,  shook  the  head. 

nie,  to  neigh. 

noder,    other ;     no    noder,    none 

other. 
noumbles,   entrails,    'those   parts 

which  are  usually  baked  in  a 

pie.' 
nourice,  nurse. 


GLOSSARY. 


371 


O,  of  (=by,  Babylon,  i?2);  on. 

of,  off. 

okerer,  usurer. 

on,  one. 

on,  of,  in. 

ones,  once. 

or,  before. 

order,  ordre,  rule  or  discipline  of 

a  monastic  order. 
ought,  owned,  had  (Car.  31'). 
overtolde,  counted  too  much. 
oware,  hour. 

owre,  or,  before  (Spens,  83). 
owre,  over. 
owtlay,  outlaw. 

Palfray,  palfrey,  saddle-horse. 

pall,  cloak. 

parti,  side ;  iippone  a  parti,  on 
one  side. 

passe,  limits,  extent. 

pastes,  pasties,  pies. 

pavyleon,  tent. 

pecis,  cups,  vessels. 

peecis,  pieces,  guns. 

pellettes,  bullets. 

perte,  part,  side. 

pestilett,  pistol. 

pety,  pity. 

peyses,  pieces. 

pin,  '  the  metal  peg  under  a 
knocker,'  Furnivall. 

pine,  pain,  torture. 

//'/,  pitten,  put. 

plate-jack,  coat  of  mail. 

plucke-buffet,  see  note,  Gest,  424'. 

pot,  deep  place  in  a  river. 

prees,  stress  of  battle,  attack. 

pricke,  target. 

pricke-wand,  see  note,  Guy,  3i2. 

prime,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning  (originally  a  term  ap- 
plied to  the  first  hour  of  the 
canonical  day). 

prude,  proud. 


prycked,  spurred. 

pyght,  pitched. 

pyne,  suffering,  torture. 

Quarter  (Cock,  82),  the  fourth  part 

of  a  yard. 

quyrry,  quarry,  slaughtered  game. 
quyt,  quitt,  requited. 
quyte,  to  requite,  pay. 

Radly  (see  redly),  quickly. 

ranke,  turn,  series. 

rashes,  rushes. 

rathes  (raitJi),  periods  of  three 
months. 

raive,  row. 

rawstye,  rusty. 

raye,  striped  cloth. 

raysse,  raid,  incursion. 

reacheles,  reckless,  careless. 

reade,  counsel,  advice. 

reade,  rede,  to  advise,  interpret, 
guess. 

reane,  rain. 

reas,  to  rouse. 

reave,  to  rob. 

rede,  p.  p.,  guessed. 

reden,  rode. 

redly,  redely,  quickly. 

reiver,  robber. 

renisht,  prepared,  arranged,  ca- 
parisoned (?). 

reve,  to  rob. 

reves,  stewards,  bailiffs. 

rin,  to  run. 

rise  (at),  to  spring  from,  come 
from. 

rivin\  tearing. 

rocks,  distaffs. 

rode,  rood,  cross. 

roke,  reek,  steam. 

rome,  room. 

route,  to  assemble  in  a  band. 

rout,  rowght,  attack,  battle. 

row,  rowd,  rowed,  to  roll,  wrap. 


372 


GLOSSARY. 


row-footed,  rough-footed. 

rule,  see  note,  Monk,  32*. 

rung,  staff. 

ryall,  royal. 

rynde,  flayed. 

rysyt,  imperative  pi.,  arise. 

Sad,  earnest,  serious,  heavy. 

sae,  so. 

sair,  sore. 

sakeless,  guiltless,  innocent. 

salued,  greeted. 

sark,  a  shirt. 

sat,  salt. 

sawten,  assault. 

say,  to  essay,  try  (Child  Waters, 

274)- 

sayne,  to  say. 
scathe,  harm,  injury. 
schoote,  shot,  i.e.  let  go,  sent  off 

(Otterburn,  323). 
scobs,  gags. 
se  (Cheviot,  40"),  saw. 
se,  see,  to  protect  (in  the  phrase 

'save  and  see '). 
seke,  to  search. 
seker,  secure,  sure. 
selerer,  cellarer,  the  officer  who 

furnished  the  convent  with  pro- 
visions (Ritson). 
semblyde,  assembled.- 
sen,  since. 
sen,  sent. 
sent,  sendeth. 
sent  (sent  I  me),  to  assent. 
set  (to  fore :  Gest,  2233),  hit,  struck 

upon. 

sett,  to  aim  (Barton,  3i2). 
sette,  leased,  placed  in  pledge  (in 

sette  to  wedde). 
settled,  aimed. 
shanna,  shall  not. 
shathmont,  a  span,  a  measure  of 

about  six  inches ;   A.-S.  sc&ft- 

mund. 


shawe,  wood,  grove,  thicket. 

shear  (Cheviot,  62, 82),  probably  for 
sir,  sere  =  several,  particular. 

sheave,  slice. 

shee,  shoe. 

sheene,  sheyne,  beautiful. 

shefe  (of  arrows),  'sheaf,'  twenty- 
four. 

shende,  to  harm,  rebuke,  punish. 

shent,  hurt. 

shet,  shot. 

shete,  to  shoot. 

sheugh,  seugh,  furrow,  ditch. 

shift,  change,  resource. 

shape,  created. 

shot-window,  a  projected  window 
(?)  ;  a  window  opening  out- 
wards, on  a  hinge  (not  set  in 
a  sash),  still,  or  till  lately,  in 
use  in  Scotland.  —  Jamieson. 

shradds,  coppices,  openings  in  a 
wood. 

shrewed,  cursed. 

shroggs,  stunted  shrubs. 

shryve,  sheriff. 

sick,  sigh. 

sichin,  sighing. 

sicke,  such. 

siller,  silver. 

sin,  sun. 

sindry,  sundry,  '  all  sorts  of  peo- 
pie.' 

sit  A,  since. 

skinkled,  sparkled. 

slack  (Fair  Mary  of  L.,  20*),  low 
ground,  hollow,  narrow  pass 
between  hills. 

slade,  greensward  between  two 
woods,  valley. 

slan,  slain. 

slawe,  slain. 

slight  (Kinmont  W.,  I33),  raze, 
dismantle,  level  to  the  ground. 

slist,  sliced. 

slo,  sloo,  slon,  to  slay. 


GLOSSARY. 


373 


slogan,  the  clan-cry. 

sloken,  to  slake. 

sloughe,  slew. 

sma,  small. 

snelf,  keen,  sharp. 

snood,  a  fillet  for  the  hair. 

somers,  pack-horses. 

scnvdan  (Estmere,  65*),  sultan, 
any  infidel  king. 

spait,  flood,  freshet. 

sparred,  barred. 

sparris,  barrest. 

spauld,  shoulder. 

spede  (p.  p.,  sped),  to  prosper. 

speer,  to  ask. 

spendyd,  spanned,  placed  in  rest. 

splent,  armor. 

spole,  shoulder. 

sprente,  sprang  out,  spouted. 

spulyie,  to  plunder. 

spurne  (see  note,  Cheviot,  6<f, 661), 
troubk,  cause  of  disaster :  '  of- 
fendiculum.' —  Stratmann.  (?) 

spyrred,  asked. 

stage,  stag. 

stage  (Monk,  3Q2)  ? 

stalle,  place. 

stean,  stone. 

stear,  stir,  fright. 

sterne,  bold  ones. 

sterte,  started,  hurried. 

steven,  voice  (Guy,  522) ;  time 
(Guy,  27*). 

stonyt,  imperative  pi.,  stone. 

stownde,  time. 

stour,  stowre,  stress  of  battle,  at- 
tack. 

straked,  stroked. 

strayght,  narrow. 

streen,  yestreen,  yesterday  even- 
ing. 

strocke,  struck. 

strong  (Armstrong,  lo1),  violent, 
with  a  shade  of  '  infamous.' 

stye,  path,  road. 


styntyd,  stopped. 

styrande,  stirring,  raising. 

suar,  sure. 

swapped,  swapte,  struck,  smote. 

swarved  =  swarmed,  climbed  (?) 

(Barton,  56'). 
sweavens,  dreams. 
syke,  'a  marshy  bottom   with   a 

small  stream  in  it.' — Jamieson. 
syne,  since,  afterwards. 
syt,  sitteth. 

Tae  (for  ae),  one  ;  the  tae  =  that 
ae ;  that  being  an  old  form  of 
the  definite  article.  Cf.  tone, 
tot  her. 

take,  to  give. 

takles,  arrows. 

talents  (Estmere,  17'),  abundance, 
great  weight. 

taryed,  p.p.,  delayed. 

tene,  trouble. 

tet,  tett,  lock  or  knot  of  hair. 

the,  they. 

the,  to  prosper,  thrive. 

theekit,  thatched. 

thimber,  gross,  thick. 

thinketh,  with  dative,  seems. 

thirdin,  the  third. 

thought,  with  dative,  seemed. 

thrast,  thrust,  pressed. 

threw,  twisted,  entwined. 

thrild  (tirled),  shook,  rattled  (at 
the  latch). 

throly,  vehenfently. 

throwe,  space  of  time. 

tiend,  a  tithe,  a  tax  or  tribute. 

tiff,  puff. 

till,  tyll,  to  ;   while  (Barton,  664). 

till,  to  entice. 

tine,  tyne,  to  lose. 

tither  (tother),  other  (that  other). 

tobroke,  broken  in  pieces. 

toke,  gave. 

told,  counted. 


374 


GLOSSARY. 


tone,  one ;  the  tone  =  that  one. 
Cf.  tae. 

toom,  empty. 

topcastle,  '  ledgings  surrounding 
the  mast-head.' 

father,  other.     Cf.  tae,  tone. 
>      to-towe,  too-too,  excessively. 

toune,  towne,  often  means  simply 
an  enclosed  or  fortified  place. 

tow,  two. 

tray,  grief. 

tre,  tree,  wood,  staff,  piece  of  wood. 

trew,  to  trust. 

trystell-tree,  trysting-tree,  meeting- 
place. 

tul,  till. 

twa,  two. 

twal,  twelve. 

twin,  twind,  twyned,  v.  t.  and  v.  i., 
to  part,  separate. 

twine,  (Cock,  53),  a  woven  fabric, 
cloth. 

twinn  (in),  apart,  in  twain. 

tyll,  see  till. 

tyndes,  tines,  antlers. 

tyne,  see  tine. 

Unco,  strange,  'uncouth.' 
unkouth,     unkuth,     unknown, 

strange. 

unneth,  scarcely. 

unsett,  not  previously  appointed. 
untyll,  unto  ;  while. 
up-chance,   by    chance,    perhaps. 

Cf.  'up  peril  of*  .  .' 

Veiwe-bow  (Guy,  I51),  yew- 
bow  (?). 

verament,  truly. 

vew-bow  (ft.  H.  Death,  273),  yew- 
bow  (?). 

vylaynesly,  churlishly,  rudely. 

Wache,  watch,  sentinel. 
wad,  would. 


wae,  woe. 

Wallace  wight  ( Wee  Wee  Man,  33), 
strong  (wicht)  as  Wallace. 

wame,  womb. 

wan  (pret.  of  win),  came. 

wand,  stick,  wood  ;  cage  o1  wand, 
wooden  cage. 

wane  (wane,  wune),  habitation.    . 

wane  (Cheviot,  362)  ?  —  See  note. 

war,  waur,  worse. 

waran,  protection,  surety. 

warison,  reward. 

warlock,  wizard,  demon. 

warsle,  wrestle. 

wat,  know ;  a  wat,  I  wot,  for- 
sooth. 

wayte,  to  watch  ;  wayte  after,  to 
lie  in  wait  for. 

waythmen,  hunters. 

weal  (Cheviot,  60'),  clench,  so  as 
to  lea,ve  '  wales ':  Skeat  (with  ?), 
who  also  suggests  altering 
the  phrase  to  'wringe  and 
wayle.' 

weate  (Barton,  472)  ? 

wedde,  pledge. 

weede,  wedes,  clothes. 

weet,  weit,  wet. 

well-fared,  well-favored,  hand- 
some :  cf .  ill-far1  d  face,  Tarn 
Lin,  4O3. 

well-wight  (Cock,  16'),  right 
hardy. 

welt  (past  tense  of  welderi),  com- 
manded, disposed  of. 

wete,  to  know. 

wether,  whither. 

whae,  who,  what. 

whang,  thong. 

whatten,  what  kind  of. 

whereas,  where. 

whether,  whither. 

whun,  whin,  furze. 

whyll,  while,  until  (Otterburn, 
So3)- 


GLOSSARY. 


375 


widifus  (sing,  widifu),  rascals, 
thieves,  those  who  deserve  to 
be  hanged  in  a  '  widdy,'  to  fill 
a  withy,  i.e.  a  rope  of  willow- 
twigs,  here  equivalent  to  'gal- 
lows.' Cf.  Dunbar,  The  Fen- 
geit  Freir  of  Tungland,  v.  47  f . : 
'  He  had  purgatioun  to  mak 
a  theif  To  dee  without  a 
widdy.' 

wife,  woman. 

wight,  person,  being,  thing. 

wight,  wyght,  wighty,  strong, 
brave,  hardy. 

wile,  vile,  wicked. 

wilfnll  (Guy,  24'),  mistaken  :  wil- 
ful of  my  way,  having  lost  my 
way. 

win,  to  go. 

winna,  will  not. 

wit,  knowledge. 

with  (Otterlnirn,  42*),  by. 

wod,  wodc,  wood,  mad. 

wolwarde,  see  note,  Gest,  44  23. 

won  (Armstrong,  33,  7'),  one. 

wonder,  wonderfully. 

wane  (Monk,  2$2),  abundance, 
quantity. 

wannest,  dwellest. 

wonyng,  dwelling. 

wood-wroth,  mad  with  rage. 

woodweele,  see  note,  Guy,  2s. 


worthe,  see  note,  Gest,  iSp3. 

wouche,  wrong,  damage. 

wrocken,  revenged. 

wyld,  game,  animals. 

wynne,  joy. 

Wynnes,  pi.,  get  in,  gather. 

wynne  (win),  to  go. 

wystly,  intently. 

wyte,  blame. 

wyte  (wefe),  to  know. 

Y-  prefixed  to  a  word  usually 
indicates  the  past  participle  of 
the  verb  ;  also  spelled  *'-.  It  is 
the  older  ge-. 

yae,  every. 

yare,  ready. 

yates,  gates. 

ychon,  each  one,  everybody. 

yebent,  bent. 

yede,  yode,  went. 

yee  (Otterbnrn,  394),  eye. 

yefeth,  in  faith. 

yerdes,  sticks,  rods. 

yerlle,  earl. 

yerly,  early. 

yett,  gate. 

ylke,  ilke,  same. 

yole,  yule,  Christmas. 

yont,  beyond,  further  off. 

youd,  yode,  went. 

yth,  i'  th',  in  the. 


Addendum. 

he  (Stephen,  I21),  they. 


INDEX 


INTRODUCTION,    NOTES,   AND   APPENDIXES. 


Accent,  308,  f. 

Addison,  xxxviii ;  325. 

Aldhelm,  297. 

Alfred,  297,  f. 

alliteration,  305,  f. 

Angler,  Walton's,  xx,  f. 

Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  xxxi ;  Ixxi ; 

xciii ;  297. 
archery,  316;  321. 
arm-rings,  359. 
Arthur,  314. 

artist,  xiv;  Ixix;  xc;  xciv,  f. ;  312. 
assonance,  xxxi;  304. 
authorship     of     ballads,     xxvii ; 

xxxiv ;  xxxv,  ff. ;  xlii ;  xlix,  ff .  ; 

Ivi,  f . ;  Ix;  Ixiv,  f.;  Ixix,  ff.;  Ixxii; 

xcv, f.;  3ii,f. 

Ballad,  xv,  ff . ;  xxvi ;    1 ;    xcvii,  f . ; 

297,  ff. 
defined,  xxviii,  ff. 

—  degeneration  of,  Ixvi. 

—  diction  of,  xxix,  f .;  309. 

—  distribution  of,  Ixvi. 

elements  of,  Ixxii. 

English,  299,  f . 

—  European,  3Oi,f. 

—  first  modern,  xv. 

—  imitations  of,  xxvi ;  xl. 
metre  of,  xxx,  f . 

name  of,  xvii,  ff . 

oldest  English,  xix,  f. 

on  walls,  xxi. 


ballad,  primitive,  Ixxxiv. 

scurrilous,  xxii ;  xxxii,  ff. : 

Ixxix,  ff. ;  xcii. 

—  statistics  of,  Ixviii. 
transmission  of,  Ixvi. 


ballade,  xviii;  Ixxxiii. 

ballad-makers,  xxiii,  f. 

ballads  of  Europe,  297,  ff. 

ball-playing,  Ixxxi,  f. 

Billy  Blin,  356. 

birds,  328;  351;  358. 

blindness,  310. 

boar's  head,  362. 

Bbhme,  Ix,  f. ;  Ixxv,  f. 

braid  letter,  332. 

Brandl,  Professor,  Ixi ;  Ixxi;  303. 

bride-stealing,  357. 

Brink,  ten,  xxxv,  f.;  Ixii;  xcv,  f.; 

3"- 

broadsides,  xix  ;  xxiv ;  Ixvi,  f. 
Brooke,  xxiv. 

brotherhood-in-arms,  343,  f. 
Brown,  Mrs.,  344. 
burden,  Ixxxiv,  f. 
Burger,  xv ;  xlvi,  ff . 

Cadbury  B.,  statistics,  Ixviii. 
Caedmon,  xciii. 
candles,  351. 
cante-fable,  Ixxiv. 
carmina  burana,  xiv. 
Chanson  de  Roland,  xxxii. 
Chappell,  xviii;  xxxi. 


378 


INDEX. 


Charlemagne,  297. 

Chaucer,  xviii. 

Chevy  Chace,  xx;  325. 

Child,  Professor,  xxvi;  Ixii;  299, f. 

—  Ballads,  300,  and  often, 
chorus,  Ixxxv. 
Christmas,  362. 
chronicles,  xxiv. 

church,  xi;  xxxi;  Ixxxiii,  f.;  309. 

Cimbrian  peasants,  Ixxvii. 

Cnut,  297,  f. 

cock-crow,  347. 

communal   ballad,  xxvii ;    xxxiii ; 

Ixviii;  Ixx. 

Complaynt  of  Scotland,  xx;  Ixxviii. 
complexion,  353. 
Cosquin,  xlix;  Ixix. 
Cox,  Capt.,  xxv. 

Dancing,    xx ;    xxxiii ;    Ixxv,  ff.  ; 

Ixxxii,  ff . 

Danish  ballads,  299. 
Dante,  xii. 
dead,  grief  for,  346,  f . 

—  worship  of,  360. 
degeneration,  Ixvi. 
distribution,  Ixvi. 
domestic  tragedy,  337. 
Dunbar,  xiii,  f. ;  xxii. 

Edda,  Ixxi. 

English  ballads,  299,  f. 

epos,  xiv ;  xvi,  f . ;  xcvii. 

—  of  nature,  xlvi,  f. 
Esthonians,  301,  f. 
European  ballads,  301,  f. 
exposure  of  children,  335  ;  342. 

Fairy,  360. 

fairy-land,  361. 

Faroe  islanders,  xxxiii ;  Ixxvi. 

fasting  till  an  '  adventure '  comes, 

3M- 

figures  of  speech,  xxx,  ff.;  309. 
Finns,  301. 


folk,  xxxvi,  ff . ;   xliii,  f. ;    xlvi,  ff. ; 

li ;  Iviii;  Ixxxiii. 
frogs  as  poison,  358. 
funerals,  Ixxviii. 

Garlands,  xxiv. 

genitive,  315;  321. 

Germanic  poetry,  Ixxi ;  297. 

Gest,  The,  of  R.  H.,  Ixvii. 

Glasgerion,  340,  ff. 

Gleim,  xl. 

glove,  334. 

Goethe,  xlv,  f. 

good-nights,  xxi. 

Gray,  309. 

green,  319. 

Grimm,    J.,    xv  ;    xxxv  ;    xlix,  ff.; 

xcv;  301. 
Grimm,    W.,    xxviii ;    xxxi;    liii; 

Ixix. 
Grundtvig,  xxvii ;  xxxv,  f . ;  xliv  ; 

Ixii;  299. 

Hair,  how  worn,  355. 
Hallowe'en,  360. 
Hamann,  xl,  f. 

Herder,  xxi;  xxxviii;  xli,  ff.;  xlix. 
Home,  tragedy  of  Douglas,  345. 
Homer,  xlii. 

homogeneous  folk,  xxvii ;  Iv. 
Hood,  Robin,  Ixvii;  Ixxviii;  313,  f. 
horses,  324,  359. 
—  color  of,  351. 

'  I,'  the,  Ixx. 

Iceland,  Ixxvi,  f. ;  Ixxxvi;  xci. 
improvisation,  xc,  ff. ;  312. 
individual,  xi,  ff. ;  Ivi ;  Ixix ;  Ixxxiii. 
iteration,  xxxii. 

Jeanroy,  Ixxv  ;  Ixxxv. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  299. 

Keats,  xv ;  xxxiv. 
kevels,  331. 


INDEX. 


379 


Khorovod,  Ixxix. 
kiss,  361. 

Kittredge,  Professor,  xxxiv ;  318; 
348. 

Lachmann,  liv. 
Lai  del  Freisne,  355. 
lamasse,  323. 
language,  see  speech. 
Lanier,  xxviii. 
Lessing,  xl. 
liberality,  319. 
Limburg  Chronicle,  Ix. 
Little  Musgrave  and  Lady  Barn- 
ard, 337,  ff. 
love-song,  xciv. 
Lowth,  xl. 

Lyngbye,  xxxiii  ;  Ixxvi. 
lyric,  xx  ;  xxiii ;  xliv  ;  xciv,  f. 
'  lyric  cry,'  xiii. 

Malmesbury,  William  of,  xii ;  298. 

mansongr,  Ixxx. 

Mary,  Maries,  333  ;  335. 

medieval  poetry,  xiv. 

metaphor,  xxxi ;  309. 

metre,  xxx,  f. ;  Ixxi ;  303,  ff. 

Meyer,  G.,  xci. 

R.  M.,  Ixxxvii,  f. 

minstrel,  Ixxiv  ;   Ixxxiii ;   Ixxxvii ; 

310,  ff. 

Motherwell,  xxvii ;  Ivii  ;  lix. 
Miillenhoff,  xxvi ;  lix  ;  303. 
murder,  test  of,  350. 
music,  xviii  ;  Ixxii. 
mystery,  Hi ;  Ixxxii. 

Name,  naming  a,  350. 

Nash,  Tom,  xiii. 

Neocorus,  Ixxvii ;  Ixxxv  ;  xcviii. 

Nigra,  Ixiii ;  Ixvii ;  xcvii. 

nut-brown,  353. 

Nyrop,  xii ;  Ix. 

Oath,  351. 


Odin,  see  Woden, 
origins,  see  authorship. 
Ossian,  xl ;  xiii. 

Paris,  Gaston,  xii  ;  Ixiii. 

Paul,  Professor,  lix. 

people,  poetry  of  the,  xiv  ;    xvi  ; 

xxvi  ;  xxxv,  ff.  ;  348. 
Percy,  xxxviii ;  Iviii  ;  299,  f. 
Percy  Folio,  300. 
Percy's  Reliques,  xl  ;  and  often, 
personal  element,  xi,  f. 
phrases,  xxix  ;  324. 
plagiarism,  xi. 
plucke-buffet,  319. 
poetry  defined,  liii,  f. 
popular  tales,  xlix  ;  Ixv. 
prayers  at  end  of  ballad,  322. 
Prior,  xxvii. 
prior,  315. 
pronoun  (personal)  omitted,  315. 

—  (relative)  omitted,  322. 
Prudentius,  xv. 
Puttenham,  xxii. 

Race,  see  folk, 
recitation,  Ixxiii,  f. 
refrain,  Ixxxiii,  ff. 

meaning    and    kinds    of, 

Ixxxviii,  f. 

origin  of,  Ixxxvii. 


rime,  xxi ;  304,  ff. 
rimur,  Ixxvi,  f. 
ring,  riding  at,  334. 
Ritson,  xxv,  f.  ;  Iviii  ;  311. 
Romantic  school,  xlvii ;  1. 
Rousseau,  xxxix. 
Russians,  xvi ;  xxix  ;  Ixxix. 

Saintsbury,  xvii,  f. 
Scandinavian  ballads,  Ixxi. 
Scherer,  xxvi;   xxxvii,  f. ;    xlviii ; 

lix. 

Schlegel,  A.  W.,  liii,  f.  ;  xcv. 
schnadcrhupfel,  Ixxx  ;  xci ;  312. 


380 


INDEX. 


schools,  poetry  of  the,  xiv  ;  xvi ; 

Ixxxiii ;  348. 
scop,  xxxii  ;  310,  ff. 
Scott,  lix  ;  311  ;  and  often, 
scurrilous  songs,  see  ballad. 
septenarius,  xxx  ;  303. 
Shakespeare,  xiii ;  xx  ;  xxii ;  xxiv; 

xxxix. 
Shelley,  xv. 
Sidney,  xx  ;  325. 
similes,  xxxi  ;  309. 
simplicity,  xxix ;  309. 
singer,  Ixviii,  f.  ;  310,  ff. 
singing,  Ixxii,  f. 
sister's  son,  328. 
Skelton,  xiv. 
song,  xvi,  f.  ;  xviii  ;  xx,  f.  ;  xxvi ; 

Ixxii. 

sonnet,  xxi. 

speech,  xxix  ;  xxxvi  ;  lii  ;  xcvii. 
spontaneity,  xxxiii. 
Steenstrup,  xxxi ;  Ixii,  f.  ;  Ixxi. 
Steinthal,  xxxv,  ff. 
stev,  xci. 

subjective,  xi,  ff. ;  xxviii. 
supernatural,  346. 
surnames,  318. 
sword-dance,  Ixxv. 
swords,  color  of,  345  ;  364. 
swearing  by,  317. 


Table,  318. 
tables,  334. 
Talvj,  Iviii ;  Ixxxvi. 
Tennyson,  xxx. 
threnody,  Ixxxvii,  f. 
transformation,  360. 
troth-plight,  349. 

Uhland,  Iv,  ff.  ;  Ixiv. 

Verb  omitted,  325,  f. 

verse  (see  also  metre),  307,  ff. 

Villon,  xii,  f.  ;  xxii. 

volkslied,  xvii  ;  xxvi ;  xxxvii ;  xliii, 

ff. 

volkspoesie,  xxvi ;  Ixx. 
volksthiimliche  poesie,  xxvi ;  Ixx. 

Warnings  of  danger,  357. 
washing  before  meals,  315. 
Watling  Street,  315,  324. 
Woden,  Ixvii ;  349. 
Wolf,  F.,  xxvii,  f.  ;  xxxvi  ;  xxxix  ; 

Iviii ;  Ixxxiii  ;  xcvii. 
wolves,  328. 
Wood,  Robert,  xxxix. 
Wordsworth,  xiv,  f. 

Young,  E.,  xxxix. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

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